Chuck v The Burning Man
by truthseekr
Summary: Chuck searches for his dad & a real relationship with Sarah. Back from Reno one agent meets a skin job while the other prepares to take out a granny. Meanwhile the Bartowskis bond over purple lingerie. What's this craziness all about? Check out Ch.25.
1. Burners

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**This piece is for those of you who wanted a sequel to _Chuck v. The Twilight Zone! _**

**[A/N: Keep in mind that when fans scream "Stark!" sometimes they get more and definitely different than what they bargained for. Just ask any Farscape fan!]**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 and BillAtWork for their services in a "beta capacity."**

**SPOILERS are embedded so you purists beware!**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**

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**Prologue (Ch.1)—Burners**

**Late August 2008**

**Black Rock City ("BRC"), Northern Nevada**

'Gearhead Gary' was not really his name but that was what everyone called him for those eight days. He did not mind, though; he liked the anonymity. For a few beers and no questions, he would fix anything. He was a regular Doc Emmett Brown, although he was still looking for his very own flux capacitor and with the number of Mutant vehicles that he often ended up working on at the Burning Man festival, he never knew if a Delorean with 1.21 gigawatts of power might one day show up there.

The 'Burners' who knew Gearhead Gary loved to listen to him as he would work on the various contraptions that were brought to him. He often thought to himself, _if only I could go back in time_, "I would fix that Ted Roark for good and my kids would have been set."

Most of the year he kept to himself and stayed lost in his regrets. But here, he found his opportunity to contribute to this temporary society that accepted him as he was for his gifts and never tried to steal anything from him. He was a broken man who had a unique ability to fix almost anything.

It had been a relatively quiet week for him. However, on the fourth day, a 20-something stoner brought in a toaster that wasn't working. After getting the lodged CD out of the machine, Gearhead told the kid that he would probably be better off putting his bread out on a rock and heating it that way. Of course, his suggestion went over the kid's head, probably due to the kid's years of toasting his noggin. In thanks, the stoner handed him a Prism Express laptop. "It's not much use man, it crashed last year when a . . . buddy . . . yeah . . . a buddy of mine was looking at the sweet Irene Demova and she just whaled on me . . . I mean him," said the stoner. Gearhead knew that beer was probably more useful to him but he thanked the kid and sent him on his way.

As he took the computer inside his beat up '66 Airstream Overlander, he noticed that the machine had a 'Property of Roark Industries' sticker along with a 'Buy More Burbank' tag sticker on it. "Amateurs," he grumbled. He set down the crippled laptop next to the Mac OSs, TRS-80s, Commodore 64s and other electronics he had collected over the past couple days. It was always amazing to him how far the long arm of technology reached even for those who lived off the grid like him.

It was getting late and his throat was burning. He needed a tall cold one. Gearhead left his trailer and was confronted by the spectacle of a giant, glowing, yellow boat which was making its way toward the blue light district. He shook his head at the sight and chuckled dismissively as he turned to close the trailer door. "I am getting too old for this shi…P," he muttered under his breath. A cold one . . . or twelve at Newt's Bar was calling.

After a few . . . . dozen drinks, Gearhead stumbled back to his quarters on Gremlin street. Even as smashed as he was he looked at the street sign and thought it was quite poetic. There was no escaping the Gremlins, like Ted Roark, who reared their ugly heads to cause mass chaos to the greatest of his designs. And then he thought back to the last face to face talk with his son and sighed. This Burning Man had failed him and he didn't even know how it had happened.

* * *

About 500 miles south southwest of all things radical and nonconformist, a different kind of burning was taking place at The Last Dragon Chinese Restaurant. The heat was not coming from the dumplings, in fact, the food was perfect. This recommendation from the little bearded man was clearly a winner. From all outward appearances a normal second first date or first real date (depending on the perspective of the agent or the girl) was taking place in the center of the restaurant. Neither the guy nor the girl would ever call what was simmering within remotely normal.

"So, our first date is a Morgan recommendation?" Sarah asked.

"Wow, no faith in the little bearded man. Okay." Chuck said in response to the smile he noticed from across the small table. As he paused for a moment he wondered if the Chinese noodles she was eating would actually forecast longevity in the relationship that he desired with her.

"I think you should know he's always been supportive of our fake relationship. And he's never found it remotely unbelievable that a guy like me could be dating . . .," he self-consciously cleared his throat, paused, and continued, ". . you know . . ."

"What?" Sarah asked.

"Um, You know, you?" Chuck responded with some uneasiness. He knew that he was putting himself 'out there' . . . again, but more importantly, he _knew _that if he didn't he might not ever have the chance again.

"What about me?" Sarah flirtingly responded as the temperature in the immediate vicinity had definitely turned up a notch.

He chuckled and in an attempt to get a reprieve from her he asked the beautiful blonde, "You're really going to make me say it, aren't you?"

He saw that while his date had been enjoying the noodles, what she was genuinely eating up was the attention. Although not apparent from his outward body language, Chuck was a bit nervous but there was no way that he was going to back down from what may be an opportunity to melt a bit of her cool exterior.

"Wow, okay. Fine . . . alright. We'll play it your way. A girl like you, or more appropriately a woman like you. Considering the fact that you could probably kick the ass of every one in this joint, and a smart one at that, not to mention cool, and . . . ," he paused and then continued. ". . . and extremely beautiful."

As he spoke, without even realizing it she had lost all interest in the meal, everyone around them, and in everything else except _him._ In that moment, she literally hung on each word which escaped from his mouth.

Perhaps, he put himself 'out there' a bit more out than he had intended and so Chuck continued with a bit of levity, ". . . and you can stop me anytime with the compliments if they are becoming . . ."

_Thank God he changed the subject_, she thought. Unlike before, she decided to grant him a reprieve – not for his benefit, but instead for hers.

"No, no that was very sweet," Sarah giggled and interjected.

"Sweet, golly gee, thanks for making me feel like I'm 8." Chuck half-heartedly joked.

Sarah laughed and responded, "Well, you're not so bad yourself."

"Please, I'm fantastic," Chuck smirked but his attempt to deflect her compliment was not missed. The one person in the room that mattered, Sarah, saw through his act and pierced through his false bravado.

"Yeah, you are." she responded matter-of-factly while she looked straight into his eyes with a small purposeful grin to make sure that he understood and recognized her affirmation.

As a glow transferred from her to him, it was apparent that the temperature in the center of this normal Asian eatery was definitely cooking.

As they finished their meal, Sarah opened her fortune cookie and read the inscription intently.

"So does it say where you're going next, your new mission?" Chuck asked.

Caught off guard she quickly responded, "Actually it does."

Surprised Chuck asked, "Really?"

"No, not really," Sarah quirked a smile at him, with mock disdain.

Chuck flushed, a little embarrassed by the tease. He quickly covered it up with a smile of his own.

"Besides it doesn't work that way. They will probably give me a new cover and move me as far away from here as possible," Sarah finished and looked down to conceal her reluctance.

"What if they didn't?" he offered and she smiled.

"Chuck, a CIA officer doesn't get to choose," she responded as she leaned closer to him.

"You know I still have an awful lot of secrets in my head. The Lindbergh baby. The formula for new Coke." Chuck responded as he moved closer to her.

"What are you saying Chuck?" she said as she looked longingly into his eyes. He saw something he hadn't seen since just after their smoldering first kiss at the docks – her vulnerability. She openly was giving him something real in this moment and it was up to him to respond.

"What I've always wanted to say Sarah," Chuck confirmed as he leaned in to kiss her only to be cut short by the people surrounding them.

Unfortunately for this Burning Man, the impending interruption was unwelcome but was definitely unavoidable.

* * *

The following morning, hangover intact, Gearhead was awakened early by a rooster horn on a broken down tricycle outside his trailer. "Burners," he grumbled to himself as he attempted to rise to his . . . knees. He crawled to the door, grabbed the knob and swung it open. Unfortunately, in his haste and drunken stupor, he forgot to let go of the door knob and so his body followed the door, his arm, and he proceeded to fall down the stairs to the dust on the ground. As he turned his head to the side and looked up, he was blinded by the sun and this pasty meaty guy who had decided to make the BRC 'clothing optional' rule completely 'optional.' It was not that Gearhead cared that he was looking straight up at the twigs and berries of a naked Burner in full heat, but he hadn't planned to start the afternoon this way.

"Hey, I'm Maury Cheeks and this is my Traveling Cock," he said as he pointed to his broken tricycle in the shape of a giant rooster complete with feathers. He continued, "but most people call me 'Sweet.'"

"You don't say Mr. Sweet Cheeks. I was hoping you were referring to your bike," Gearhead said lackadaisically.

"I was!" laughed Cheeks.

"So what seems to be the problem?" Gearhead asked.

"I can't get the chain to stay up when I ride it," said Sweet Cheeks.

Rising up to his knees Gearhead responded, "Well, let's take a look at it, but you stay right there and you don't need to bend over like that, I've got it covered."

Even with his throbbing temple, this was going to be an easy fix. Gearhead stumbled up the stairs, grabbed an oil can, and hobbled back outside.

Sweet Cheeks was on the other side of the bike squatted down next to his beloved cock.

Gearhead dropped down on the other side of the rooster-mobile and said, "See, the alkali dust out here causes all kinds of havoc with a man's chain."

"You are talking about the bike, right?" Cheeks remarked.

Gearhead continued to focus on the chain and said, "Yeah, it just gets stuck on there and dries the whole bit out until there's nothing but a dried up shriveled piece of nothing."

"Yeah, the bike just isn't the same . . ." the nude man said.

"That time, I wasn't just talking about the bike," Gearhead snorted as he started to climb back up the stairs to his trailer.

Cheeks grinned and began to follow him, "I guess I really came out here unprepared without the essentials."

"Oh, so that's where your skivvies went?" Gearhead joked.

Cheeks chuckled and responded, "Yeah! Listen I've got this satellite phone from my work that I don't need . . ."

"And where is it exactly? I mean, I didn't see your purse on you," Gearhead chuckled.

Cheeks laughed and opened the rooster's mouth on his refurbished ride, retrieved the phone, and tossed up to Gearhead through the door of the trailer. Although his hangover had started to wear off, his reflexes had not caught up and so the phone dropped to the floor of the trailer causing it to break into a couple pieces.

As Gearhead reached down to pick up the phone he noticed a sticker on it that said 'Roark Industries.'

"Amateurs," he remarked.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that," said Cheeks as he climbed up the stairs.

"Don't worry about it, but hang here for a minute because I've got something else you're gonna need more," responded Gearhead.

As Sweet Cheeks waited in the living room area of the trailer, he noticed a picture frame on the coffee table. While he looked at it he zoned out for a minute. Perhaps his reaction was due to the change in temperature he experienced when he came in out of the blistering sun. It only lasted a moment and when he was able to refocus on the picture, he noticed that it was of a couple of teens—a boy and a girl. They were arm-in-arm and smiling. The girl had on a graduation cap and gown. The boy, who had to be her kid brother, was giving her a half hug. At the bottom of the picture were the words, Hartford High School Class of 1996.

Gearhead returned to the living room and frowned when he noticed Sweet Cheeks was looking at a picture from a happier time in Gearhead's past. In an effort to thwart an uncomfortable conversation, Gearhead offered, "I suggest you use some of this," as he handed Maury some 50 spf sunscreen. He added, "You'll thank me later, especially when you see your lady friends dressed like you later tonight."

Cheeks responded, "Thanks. Hey, are these your kids?"

Before he had time to respond, a Burner dressed as a Tusken Raider tapped on the trailer door. As Gearhead opened the door and looked outside, he noticed a broken down go-cart which had been converted to a Tatooine Speeder. _At least those sand people had clothes, _he thought.

He turned back to the naked man in his trailer and said, "That's a talk for another time." Gearhead was thankful for the reprieve. As he walked outside, Cheeks heard him mumble, "Maybe, one day I'll be able to put right what once went wrong."

The interruption for this Burning Man was unavoidable but was definitely welcome.

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**[A/N: So who is Gearhead Gary and what is he doing in the wilderness? Join Chuck and Sarah as they move closer to finding out the truth about Gearhead and, more importantly, about their real feelings for one another!]**

**STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 2--Burning Up At Christmas!**


	2. Burned Out By Christmas

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 and BillAtWork for their beta services!**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**

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**Chapter 2 – Burned Out By Christmas**

After he angled the herder safely into no less than three parking spots, he got out of the car. As he walked around to open the passenger door for his better half, he stumbled a bit. He had enjoyed a good days worth of egg nog and so life was much better than it had been the day before. After the events on Christmas Eve at the Buy More, he downed quite a bit of the holiday spirit to get to sleep. The hostage situation had not fazed him. It was seeing that kiss that had really dowsed his spirits. Did calling dibs mean nothing anymore? As he made his way into the store carrying his little buddy, he muttered something about prison rules through his drunken stupor.

He had spent Christmas morning as he always did. He visited his mom in Chowchilla. As usual he took his trusty co-pilot Roscoe with him. Unfortunately, when he arrived at the state pen, he was greeted with a new sign at the intake gate which read "JEFF – NO PETS ALLOWED!" He sighed and vaguely remembered what had caused that new 'rule' to be put into place. He looked down at Roscoe and said, "Guess I shouldn't have trained you to steal the guard's keys last year. You know what though, the Beastmaster, Kodo, and Podo would have been proud."

"It's okay Roscoe, mom knows you're here! I'll be back, you just behave in your carrier while I go wish her a Merry Christmas!" Jeff rolled down the windows of the herder to let the ferret get a breath of fresh air. The critter was not happy but Jeff knew that he would not be gone long. He just had to make sure that he made it in time to see prisoner # 27318.

Jeff was much calmer that evening at the Buy More. Of course, he didn't know if it was due to visiting with his mom earlier or if it was simply all the egg nog he drank on the return trip home. The fact was, Jeff couldn't think at all—his brain was burned to a crisp. It turned out to be a good thing that there was a gaping wide hole in the front of the store because there was no way that he would have been able to disable the security feed that night. Even the plastic and duct tape covering the entrance would have proved to be challenge for him. He entered from the loading docks and wobbled down the hall until he made it to the sales room floor. He went directly to the home theater room and set down Roscoe's cage and his bag. He rifled through his gear to pull out a sixer of Van Buren ale—the finest beer for under $2.99 a six pack. He also pulled out his favorite video and put it in the machine. In a few moments, Air Supply's_ All Out Of Love _started to play. He watched images of his favorite muse—Anna. As distressed as he had been, his mom had reminded him that day that all was not lost. After all, Anna was now done with Morgan and Lester. Now it was his turn to make the most of the seeds he had been planting. It was time for Anna to command his missile. He was going to _tag _Anna. Or so he thought. Before things went too far down the unspeakable route, Jeff turned to his trusty companion, Roscoe.

Roscoe was restless. He had been in his cage all day. Jeff pulled out Roscoe's water bowl, popped open a Van Buren and poured the little polecat a drink. "You've got to be thirsty little buddy, I know I am," he said as he downed the rest of that beer. He opened the cage door and his beloved companion slyly inched his way out and then BOLTED!

As the critter made his way around the room, Roscoe tripped a lever which opened a trap door that the 18 year veteran of BuyMoria had never seen before. Of course, Jeff did not notice the hatch because he was pounding a second beer. Roscoe came over and ran up Jeff's chest, snaked the card out of his pocket, and then took off out of the room. "Come back here, you know I need that card or I might forget my name," the burned out drunk yelled as he stood up to give chase. Unfortunately, he only made it about two steps before he fell straight down the portal.

All that could be heard was "PINE-APPPPPPLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEE," followed by a thud and then nothing.

The ferret ran back in the room tripped the lever and then dropped the card on the floor next to the trap door. The card read, 'My name is Jeff and I'm lost.'

For those who know polecats, this one definitely had a mischievous smile on his face when he heard the stereo blare . . .

_I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you_. . . .

* * *

It was early. The clock read 6:30 a.m. Chuck stared at a particularly invasive night light on the wall and sighed. The bug inside the light provided real time video of his bedroom to the adjacent apartment. Before he knew it he was humming They Might Be Giants' song _Birdhouse in your Soul_. He silently mouthed the words as he looked up to the light:

_....................I'm your only friend_

_....................I'm not your only friend_

_...................But I'm a little glowing friend, _

_..................But really I'm not actually your friend_

_..................But I am, __Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch, _

_..................Who watches over you!_

_..................Make a little birdhouse in your soul_

He thought, for ironies sake, the song about a night light who watched over him could not be more true. But then, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that big brother Casey was not the only one who was watching him at that moment. The bruised and beaten angel next to him had her eyes fixed on him. How long had she been awake Chuck wondered? He turned over and looked into her eyes. The peaceful look that she had while she slept only a short while ago was now gone. Sarah half smiled as she watched him watch her. As her forehead crinkled it looked as though she wanted to say something but she did not know how to start.

Chuck had wanted to shoot himself, wait no. _No more guns at Christmas,_ he remembered. He definitely felt the need to talk to her now. And he wanted to hit himself for not wanting to talk to her on Christmas day. She had wanted to talk, but about what? Based on the purple bruises around her neck, it was now apparent to him.

Sarah whispered, "Chuck, can we talk?"

She knew something had bothered him the day before. Oblivious to the fact that he had seen the bruises that Lt. Mauser had inflicted on her, she was concerned about the inexplicably strange reactions that Chuck displayed toward her on Christmas.

He looked back at her and as much as he was still dealing with the killing and Agent Walker having lied about it, he was very conflicted with opening this bit of dialogue. But maybe it was for the best.

Of course, staring right at him was the 'birdhouse in his soul,' his very own Casey.

And for all Chuck knew, Agent Walker had lied to Casey too about the Mauser execution. As much as he didn't understand why she did it, he sure didn't want to subject her to the Casey interrogation about it.

Sarah quietly asked, "Chuck?"

Chuck refocused and gazed back at her. It was an intensely personal moment. He could see into her, how he did not know, but nevertheless, her eyes were the windows into her soul. He thought for a moment about the various ways that she communicated to him—action was her favorite, her expressive eyes and pouty lips, even when she turned her head and breathed deeply. She was not a talker, he knew that. Yet, she wanted to talk about . . . something.

Staring back at the video bug, Chuck remembered all of the languages that he had seen Sarah use to communicate with in the last year and a half. This time he was not thinking metaphorically. 'Practical Chuck' thought—French, German, Russian, Polish, there were probably half a dozen more that she had some degree of fluency. He thought that his head for computer languages and programming could not possibly translate to her obvious knowledge of millions of words. Of course, she knew all the words, but did she ever express any of those that really mattered, he wondered?

Well, if Sarah was finally going to open up to him, by God, the G-man in the apartment next door was not going to be privy to it.

Chuck took a chance on her knowing another language. As he looked back at her, he began to make a couple gestures with his left hand directly in front of her as they laid there face-to-face.

He lifted his pinkie.

He changed his hand to show his three middle fingers up.

Then he made a fist.

Next he placed his thumb between his middle and ring finger.

And then he moved his thumb to between his index and middle finger.

Sarah nodded for him to continue as she understood.

So he repeated what he had started. Chuck signed,

"_I_"

"_W_"

"_A_"

"_N_"

"_T_"

And then he added,

"_T_"

"_O_"

Her eyes widened.

Then he mouthed, "But" and shook his head and pointed to the nightlight on the wall above them.

Sarah signed back, "_O-K_" and nodded in understanding.

He looked back at her and could not help but focus on the still present purple choke hold bruises around her neck.

She then signed one last word, "_L-A-T-E-R_" and raised her blonde brows questioningly.

Chuck nodded back.

She raised herself up and then she became painfully reacquainted with the battered beauty that she still was. Looking in the mirror across the room, she saw she was still in Chuck's t-shirt and boxers. But the purple stranglehold marks remained in plain view.

Luckily, Chuck had washed all the egg nog out of her granny pajamas and they were folded and sitting at the foot of the bed. Unfortunately, he had already seen the marks on her neck.

Sarah knew then that she had some explaining to do—whether she was ready to or not—but not there. It was time to get back to her apartment, and quickly before she had to say anything, anything at all.

Sarah noticed Chuck still watching her as she was looking herself over in the mirror. He turned his head to the side but the questioning look was more than that, he truly looked pained and concerned. She knew that he had never seen her like this-all tattered and torn.

She went over to his side of the bed and sat down. Sarah moved her hand silently up to his cheek and stroked it softly, lingering there for a moment. The charm bracelet on her wrist brushed his cheek followed by her soft hand. Chuck sighed. And then she moved her hand away and up to his forehead and gently down as she persuaded him to shut his eyes. He understood her non-verbal communication perfectly. Sarah did not want him to look at her this way and it was apparent that she was about to change to cover all the ugliness (if you could call it that) back up.

She let out a barely audible "yelp" as she raised her arms while she took off his t-shirt. Chuck was not a voyeur, but his concern did get the better of him. Even though her back was turned he caught a brief glimpse of the ugly welts that were probably bruised ribs, dark marks, much deeper than the purple wounds on her neck. It had pained Chuck to see that Sarah was physically wearing what had to be the cost of his protection. Then the marks were gone, covered up underneath the clean and unrevealing Christmas pajamas.

She looked down at her bag and the noticed the gift outside the bag. The gift she had wrapped for him in red paper and a green bow. As she picked it up, she noticed that the bow was a bit disheveled and that the tape on the edge of the package had been reapplied. It did not take a CIA agent to know that Chuck Bartowski had peeked (that was twice now she thought). Yes, she had caught a glimpse of him looking at her back a few moments ago. And now the gift was out there too. He was so not ready, Sarah told herself. But, what was she going to do now? Sarah silently scribbled down a note to him on a post-it. Then she held up the package and looked back at him. She half smiled, rolled her eyes, and stuck the note on his computer out of view of the G-man bug. Sarah came over to him and stroked his cheek again and leaned down to kiss his lips sweetly goodbye. It was all too short and then she was gone.

Chuck got out of bed and went over to his computer desk. He already knew what was in the package, of course, he had peeked. And he knew based on her reaction a few moments ago that he had been caught. He could not contain his grin when he thought that she did not back pedal. Sarah had left the gift for him. He held it for a moment and then he ripped the paper wide off. Arcade Fire's _Funeral_. Sure, he had this CD, heck he even had "Crown of Love" on his pink iPod by the bed, his Sarah-pod as he called it. As he opened the CD, he knew that her giving him this present was more than 42 minutes and 15 seconds of an audio aphrodisiac. This gift told him that she was ready to make the next step with him. Yes, he was conflicted by the fact that she had point blank lied to him. But, he would deal with the Mauser issue later. Right now, he was thinking about something else. He went over to the pink iPod and scrolled down to "Crown of Love" and put the iPod in the docking station to listen as he started to get ready for work.

_........................My love keeps growing still the same, just like a cancer_

_........................And you won't give me a straight answer_

_........................If you still want me, please forgive me_

_........................The crown of love has fallen from me_

_........................If you still want me, please forgive me_

_........................Because your hands are not upon me._

He had added that song to his playlist when he was conflicted about Jill and needed forgiveness. And yet, now he thought, was Sarah asking for forgiveness? It was not unlikely that she knew what he was upset and freaked out about. He thought it would not have been a leap for her to know that he saw her kill the man. Chuck even acknowledged that he rarely, _if ever_, followed her directions to '_stay_.' Maybe this gift was also her attempt to apologize for lying to him. No, he sighed. This gift was something different. He _knew _what she was telling him. He looked down at the note, which read _7pm, my place_.

Chuck knew he had it bad, he was burning, literally burning inside.

Too bad he could not lie there all day and think about what he was going to say to her.

It was now the day after Christmas and he had to get ready for work.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the desert there was another Twilight Zone marathon wrapping up. This Christmas viewing had been a solo show. As the classic Zoner episode _Where Is Everybody?_ played, the man watching the television found himself just as isolated as the character on the tube. The words of the loner were emblematic to the man who was watching the show.

_.........................A place I don't want to go again_

_.........................A town with no people_

_.........................But there's one thing we can't simulate_

_........................The basic need--__Man's hunger for companionship_

_........................The barrier of loneliness_

_........................That's one thing we haven't licked yet_

The cold man looked at picture next to the end table and sighed. "Some Christmas at Bartowski's," he muttered alone as only the walls of the dilapidated trailer were his sole audience. He turned off the tube, turned over on the couch, and went to sleep.

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**[A/N: For those of you who would like more about the song _Birdhouse in Your Soul _or The Twilight Zone episode _Where is Everybody?_ both can be found on YouTube.]**

**[A/N: Where did that crazy ferret go? What happened to his owner? Will our hero and heroine develop their own sign language? And who is the strange guy in the desert?]**

**STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 3 – Global Thermo-BuyMoria War!**


	3. Global ThermoBuyMoria War

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 and BillAtWork for their beta services!**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**

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**Chapter 3 – Global Thermo-BuyMoria War**

Chuck pulled into the Buy More parking lot right on time -- 7:30 a.m. The store would be opening for extended holiday hours in a half an hour. As he arrived, there was already a flurry of activity going on. The plastic covering the store entrance had been removed and a set of replacement doors were being secured into place. He noticed a couple of the construction crew with ear pieces that extended down into their shirts. _Man, those NSA cleaners sure work fast, _he thought.

To avoid all of the construction activity, Chuck entered the store through the loading dock area, then made his way back towards the sales floor. As he passed the break room, he noticed a pungent smell. Maybe with all of the excitement on Christmas Eve the diaper change station had not been cleaned. He groaned. _I hate this job_. If he had been paying attention he would have noticed scratching noises and, more importantly, the source of the odor as he passed by the vent duct in the hallway. But Chuck was oblivious to the sound. He thought, _no one should have diaper duty before 8:00 a.m._

After he put his things in his locker, Chuck went over to the customer bathrooms and checked to see if they were the source of the offending odor. Nope. In fact, the restrooms were spotless. _Those NSA cleaners were really a godsend. _As he walked out of the bathroom and noticed that the odor was still there, he noticed his trusty pal walking toward him.

"What the . . . . is that smell?" Chuck asked.

"Oh, that's my Mandom!" the furry bearded one responded.

"Your mandom smells like urine?" Chuck asked.

"No, I was talking about the new cologne that my mom got me for Christmas. It was quite a find. I figured with all that happened with Anna that Chuck would help bring back my mandom," he rifled off.

"Huh? I . . . would bring back your mandom? I'm not following Morgan . . .," Chuck questioned.

"Not you, Chuck. Charles Bronson! You know — The Dirty Dozen, Magnificent 7, Death Wish 3 — he's the man. And I figured if this stuff worked for him, it could help me win back Anna," Morgan exclaimed.

"How exactly?" Chuck asked.

"Mandom was huge in Japan . . . ," he responded.

"But Anna's from Taiwan . . . ," Chuck interrupted.

"Well, same hemisphere . . . ," Morgan said and continued, "besides, as the box said, 'All the world loves a lover. All the world loves Mandom!"

Chuck shook his head and moved close enough to Morgan to get a whiff of the little man's cologne.

"Well, at least you smell better than the store!" Chuck joked. Little did Chuck know but a real "Mandom" would awaken and erupt from underneath the surface of all that was BuyMoria later that day.

Chuck noticed the other green shirts and nerd herders arriving on the sales floor all with a similar reaction to the smell. Morgan was apparently too heavily laden with his 'Mandom' to have noticed it. They had no time to waste; the store would be opening in 15 minutes. Chuck ran to the back storage room and grabbed half a dozen cans of Lysol. He instructed everyone to focus on the air vents since the offensive odor seemed to be the most concentrated there. In no time, the entire store smelled fresh like the chemically perfumed scent of Lysol, but more importantly, it didn't smell like the floor surrounding the men's toilet in a backwoods convenience store.

Chuck turned on the rest of the store lights, the equipment at the Nerd Herd Tech Support Center, and the wall of televisions. On the wall, the movie _War Games _was just beginning. Watching the screens for a moment he thought back to fond memories he had of cracking his junior high's grades database, the time when he originally came up with the code for the 'Bartowski special,' and even when he programmed his TRS-80 with his own version of Zork. _Ahh, good times._

Back to reality, Chuck noticed that the NSA cleaners had put the finishing touches on the new store entrance. Outside he saw John Casey talking with one of the crew. With the final testing of the doorway motion sensors completed, the cleaners waved goodbye and headed on to their next assignment.

Casey entered through the brand new doorway with his head raised high. _Nothing like the NSA to get the job done right_, he thought.

"Alright people!" Big Mike belted as he rushed in 8 minutes before the store was going to open. Everyone in the store knew that tone and the drill. They hurriedly lined up in preparation for the big man's morning call to arms.

"Where's Emmitt?" Bunny asked under her breath.

"Maybe his mom's leukoplekia is acting up. . . ," Morgan quipped to the side.

Big Mike started at the end of the green shirts and began to walk down the line.

"What day is today?" the big man turned and faced Skip.

"December 26th?" Skip responded quietly.

"No! It's the day after Christmas people. Today housewives, husbands, kids, and teens alike rush to use gift cards, exchange merchandise, and spend every bit of remaining cash and credit to get the deal of the year," he commanded.

"Today is a big day people," Big Mike continued as he looked at Morgan.

"With all that news coverage from Christmas Eve, I personally have made arrangements for Miss Maury Mitsubishi of KPFW Channel 13 news to come over for bonus coverage of the after-hostage Christmas sales event," he paused for a moment with a devious grin.

"We may have lost the battle on Christmas Eve but we are ready to win the war on Black Friday II. That's it people!" Big Mike finished.

As the BuyMoria line broke apart, Big Mike focused on Casey.

"John. What are you doing here? You're on worker's comp."

Casey looked back at the big man. This seasoned soldier had long put behind him the fact that he had been shot two days before. _Flesh wound_, he told himself. _No, digit wound._

"Corporate would be all over my ass if they saw you here. You are benched until you bring in a doctor's note saying you are okay to work," Big Mike commanded.

Chuck was standing next to Casey and could tell that Casey's angry center was about to explode. _Benched by Beckman on Christmas and now benched by this tub of lard at the BuyMore,_ Casey fumed.

"But Big Mike, Jeff has worked here for years and apparently he only has 8 toes," Chuck interjected in an attempt to diffuse some of the Major's 'internal heat.'

"Where is Jeff?" Big Mike asked.

* * *

No less than 30 feet south and 30 feet below Big Mike, the answer to his question could be answered. Only 8 hours earlier, the chronic drunk had fallen through the trap door in the BuyMore home theater room to land in the secret compound that one of his fellow Nerd Herders and one of the green shirts knew as "The Castle." Of course, Jeff had no idea where he was and he was just now waking up from a monster hangover which was not helped by the large bump on the back of his head due to the fall. Luckily, he was so blitzed that his head injury was not threatening. But more importantly, he didn't remember how he had gotten there.

He looked up at the ceiling and tried to focus as he blinked his eyes deliberately, slowly, several times. As things started to come into focus he continued to lay there for a moment. He reached for his shirt pocket as he had done so many times before. His card was missing. _Man, this always happens when I'm really lost,_ he thought. He checked his pockets. No cell phone. He had his keys on his belt but what good those would do? _Where am I?_

He picked himself up and saw something vaguely familiar. It was a metal and leather chair with a heavy base; a bundle of wires connected to a nearby console lay strewn across the seat. It looked sort of like. . . He paused, waiting for his burnt synapses to sputter out the answer. _Oh yeah_, Jeff recalled as the fog slowly lifted. It was one of his favorite shows, 'Meet my Folks'. He loved the part where young teenage girls had to try out to be the date for some guy and the guy's parents got to ask the girls questions while strapped to a . . . lie detector. Yeah, that's what this was, _a lie detector_. He slowly ran his hands over the leather armrest and down to the wire harness on the seat. For his money, 'Meet my Folks' was one of the best shows on television. He had even tried out for the show, what, three times? He couldn't wait to be the bachelor! _How great that would be! _They might even let his mom out of the joint for the afternoon to ask questions of his potential dates. He never understood why, but for some reason the producers never seemed to call him back. Again he thought, _Where am I? _

Against his better judgment, if it could be called that, Jeff put on the chest strap and finger marker. He couldn't resist trying the equipment out. The nerd had no idea what he was doing but he didn't let that stop him. This was going to be so much better than the Magic Eight Ball that Lester gave him for Christmas last year. _This time he would get the truth!_

"First question. Does Anna love me?" He answered himself, "Yes."

The detector responded, _Negative. _He sighed.

"Second question. Have I been beamed up?" He answered, "No."

The detector responded, _Negative. _His eyes widened.

"Okay, now for the most important question. Is there any beer here?"

He answered himself "Yes."

The machine responded, _Negative._

"NOOOO!" he shouted. He yanked at the machine with such ferocity that some of the wires became exposed. He grabbed the wires in an attempt to free himself, but instead a jolt of electricity went through him. Combined with the hangover and bump on his head, the electric shock knocked him out cold.

* * *

While on his break, Chuck decided that he needed to call Sarah about their plans for the evening. Based on her Christmas gift, her reaction earlier that morning, and her note, he wasn't actually sure what they were going to 'talk' about. _Maybe 'talk' was code for something else_, thought the nerd. In typical anxious Chuck Bartowski fashion, he wouldn't just let things lie. He went into the home theater room for a little privacy.

Before he had time to punch her number, he noticed the mess that had been left there the night before. There were a couple of six packs of Van Buren ale with only two empties. He noticed Jeff's bag with the drinking pants still inside. Next to the bag was an empty pet carrier and there was that rancid smell again. On the floor, he saw a business card that he had recognized once before. He picked it up, yes it was Jeff's.

"Well, wherever you are Jeff, it sure would have been nice if you had cleaned up after yourself," Chuck responded as he commenced to spray the room with Lysol and throw away the empty cans.

Chuck didn't notice the source of the odor in the room. If he had, he would have discovered a cinnamon-colored hoblet watching him intently under the couch. The little prankster was waiting to see if it would receive a treat for doing as it had been trained. It knew that it didn't exactly put Jeff's card on top of its owner, but it got the card as close as it could under the circumstances. The critter pouted. _No treat. _When Chuck left the room, it pushed open the vent grate next to the wall and climbed in.

Roscoe was going to have to look elsewhere for a treat.

* * *

Meanwhile, a different sort of treat was making its way into the Buy More. Maury Mitsubishi and accompanying camera crew had arrived. Ms. Mitsubishi walked without delay past the Nerd Herd desk in a conservative plum skirt suit, low cut blouse, and hair in a tight bun. Before entering Big Mike's office she directed her crew to get some outside and inside establishing shots, and she would be back in a few minutes after she 'discussed' the coverage with the store's manager. Ms. Mitsubishi could be heard complimenting Big Mike on his Marlin as he closed his door followed by the shades.

* * *

Lester, fresh from his chiropractic appointment, was feeling on top of the world. He went straight to Big Mike's office to drop off his doctor's note. Sure, he could have ridden that injury for at least two weeks off work but he couldn't wait to get to the BuyMore to see Anna. Lester looked around for the vixen but she was nowhere to be found. After standing outside Big Mike's office for a minute he decided to lightly tap on the door. He checked the door, it was locked. There was no answer but there was definitely some rustling going on in there. Lester moved closer and put his ear up to the door. Through the glass and metal conduit that was the door, he could hear groans and grunts of an unspeakable nature.

Chuck walked over to Lester.

"Hey, Lester how's your neck?"

"Much better, thank you for asking Charles. Hey, what's going on in the big man's office?" Lester asked.

"Oh, he's being probed by Maury Mitsubishi for additional bonus coverage, I think she's been in there for a while," Chuck answered.

Lester openly cackled at Chuck's word choice although Chuck had no idea what he was laughing about.

Lester put his ear to the door and in that moment, something forceful in the shape of a vertical body flattened the blinds in the center of the door from inside Big Mike's office.

Lester jumped. Chuck's eyes widened in shock and partial disgust.

"Guess that was the bonus coverage," Lester joked and continued, "How does he do it?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to know," Chuck quickly responded and backed away, way away.

Roughly 10 minutes later, Chuck noticed Ms. Mitsubishi walk out of Big Mike's office with her hair down, a bit disheveled, and skirt uneven. As she walked by the Nerd Herd desk on her way out the store, she looked at her crew and said, "I think we got what we came for guys, let's get on to our next assignment."

From all the way over at the Nerd Herd desk Chuck heard a voice from inside the manager's office yell, "Where's my danishes?"

Chuck looked at Lester, Lester looked at Skip, and Skip looked back at Chuck. None of them wanted to go anywhere near that room.

"No way, I'm not going," Chuck said and continued, "You two decide."

After three quick rounds of 'rock, paper, scissors' (to which Lester cheated on two of them), Skip lost and reluctantly made his way with donuts in hand to Big Mike's office. After hearing the noises that had just emanated from that office, no one in the store, except for the sweating husky manager was hungry. Even the ravenous ferret that had the unfortunate circumstance of watching the 'bonus coverage' from the vent above Big Mike's office had lost its appetite.

* * *

Meanwhile, about 30 feet below the snacking manager his missing nerd herder woke up with the munchies. Whether it was the hangover, bump on his head, or electric shock, it was all a blur. He picked himself off the floor and wiped the drool from his face. Surely, this mother ship that he found himself in had some tasty options. He just had to find them. He noticed a half refrigerator next to him, he opened it only to find water and bottles of pills. He looked and wondered _should I take the blue pill or the red pill?_

"Too bad they don't have any purple pills," the perv mused out loud.

Jeff looked at the bottom drawer. _Mystery crisper_. He opened the drawer and noticed a half eaten cup of yogurt. _Score! _He inhaled the cup without thinking. Within a moment he wasn't feeling so swift. Even his cast-iron stomach couldn't handle the months old curdled yogurt. His gag reflex got the better of him and his eyes dilated.

He looked around for a bathroom. _Do aliens even go to the bathroom? he wondered. _

Through his haze, he saw a sink down the hall (but importantly he didn't see the clear plexi-glass dry erase board map depicting Southern California's fault lines). He ran straight toward the sink and head first _WHACK!_ into the board. Jeff never made it to the sink. On his way down, he grabbed at the mainframe panel next to him. He didn't know what he hit but the lights clearly changed from green to red as he landed. _THUD. _At least the new bump on his head had stopped the queasiness.

* * *

Meanwhile out in the desert somewhere, a paranoid man was feeling very sick about the system that he had just hacked. Was World War III about to begin?

He had stripped and debugged the Prism laptop that the stoner had given him months before at Burning Man and he had repaired the Satellite phone that that nudey guy, '_Sweet Cheeks'_ _he remembered, _had given him. He wasn't looking to start World War III, that was old news and even this recluse thought that that possibility frankly wasn't much of one. He was just poking around in the backdoor to see what they were up to at NORAD those days. It was something he used to do for fun while spending time with his son.

After seeing _War Games_ at the theater back in '83, he had initially thought it would have been much harder to do. When he got the VHS tape the following year, it turned into something he would do while his little Ace sat on his lap. It had turned into a kind of a bonding thing between them. There was not much going on inside the WOPR mainframe. He knew that the government had long since upgraded their systems but for some reason someone had left the WOPR in place and that was his way in. _Government bureaucracy_, he grinned_._

While he was sitting there monitoring the chatter, something happened. All of a sudden, a high alert went out, followed by a change of the terror threat level from green, yellow, orange, all the way to red. Then, the DEFCON number moved down from 5 to 4 to 3 to 2. DEFCON 2!

He froze, transfixed by the rapidly escalating alarms. _What was happening_? His head ached as he tried to focus through the panic rising from deep within. _What was going on?_ Had he done something to cause this? Was he going to be the blame for a Global Thermo-Nuclear war? A familiar taste of bile rose in his throat. _Keep it together_, he scolded himself. _Think_. _How much time had elapsed?_ _Thirty, forty seconds?_ A sudden bolt of clarity gave him the best likely course of action. _Shut it down, all down._

He hung up the sat phone, turned off the laptop, and unplugged the whole get up. He ran outside and focused on the south to see if any of the silos nearby had activated.

The desert dweller was definitely FREAKING OUT!

* * *

Jeff woke up on top of the clear plexi-glass dry-erase board. As he got up he noticed the drool of yogurt on the board. _No . . . more . . . . Mystery Crisper_, he lamented. Then he looked up at the nine screens in front of him and he grinned as his eyes opened wide.

"Shall we play a game?" he said to the screens in front of him.

"How about Global Thermo-Nuclear War?"

"Wait, no," he corrected himself.

"You aliens can't kill the earth, what about my mom and Roscoe!" Jeff screamed.

"NOOO!!!"

The hangover, the bump on the back of his head, the electric shock, his sick stomach, the welt on the front of his head---none of those ailments compared to anything like the stress he felt over the separation from his mother and his beloved polecat, Roscoe. The stress along with everything else led to a drop in his blood sugar, which led to Jeff passing out for the fourth time that day. Before his head hit the table, he muttered sadly, "Roscoe."

* * *

Somewhere deep within the air ducts of the Buy More the furry ferret heard a familiar voice call out his name. He tunneled down a different route as he looked for something tasty. He found something and pried it open. But it didn't turn out to be as tasty as he thought it would be.

* * *

While heading to the breakroom for a snack, Lester thought that in the last two days he had seen more 'heavenly pillows' for free - up close and personal - than he had paid for his entire life. Anna, Ellie, the ER nurse, and then there was his chiropractor. Heck, that was the only reason he even went to the chiropractor. Before he knew it, he was at the vent duct where Jeff and he had stored their most prized joint possession. While removing the grate from the air vent, he noticed the putrid smell of urine. He reached in to pull out the 'offending' video and noticed that it had been opened. Worse, he noticed gnaw marks all over the cover, that the first 'B-O-O-B' on the "Boobies! Boobies! Boobies!" had been scratched off, and that the disk had a chunk missing.

"no." Lester lamented rather pathetically. He dropped his shoulders and sat there for a moment.

Just a few feet away a very dirty hungry critter saw the light at the end of the tunnel. It made its move and BOLTED!! Only, Lester's face was directly in its path. Before Lester knew it he had a mouthful of stinky ferret. The shock of the pounce made him fall back to the floor. "Acckkkk!!" Lester tried to spit the critter's hair and stench out of his mouth. The dirty weasel jumped off of him and ran off toward the sales floor.

Emboldened, Lester jumped up. This meant war. He reached into the janitor's closet next to him and grabbed his weapon of choice---a ragdoll mop. He was going to make that critter pay for his misdeeds. Lester could wash his mouth, but the "Boobies!" DVD was irreplaceable.

* * *

Chuck looked down at his iPhone. It was after 11am and there was still no sign of Jeff. He knew what that meant. He was going to have to close the store tonight. Which meant something else infinitely more important to him was not going to happen. He sighed as he looked over the photos he had saved of her in his phone. There was no more putting this off. He punched her number.

"Sarah," he sighed, "I've got to close the store tonight."

"But you opened this morning?" she responded disappointed.

"Yeah, well Jeff never showed up to work and he was scheduled to close," he said reluctantly. _Their 'talk' was going to have to wait, again._

"Has anyone heard from him?" she asked.

"No, but he probably went to see his mom and afterward drank a couple cases of beer and then passed out somewhere. It's strange though because his bag is here along with his favorite brand of beer."

"He has a favorite?" she questioned with a bit of sarcasm.

"Yeah, it's called whatever is cheapest!" he joked and continued, "but here's the strange thing . . . I found his card."

"He has a business card?" she grinned in disbelief.

"Yeah, well, it's more of a 're-calling' card--it says 'my name is Jeff and I am lost.' I think he carries it in his shirt pocket so that he doesn't forget his name," he kidded.

"Is there any chance that his burned out brain could be valuable to some other terrorist organization?" Suddenly Agent Walker had taken a serious tone.

"I hadn't really thought of . . . that since he's no longer the Missile Command World Champion. . . .but I don't think so," Chuck tried to continue the playful tone from earlier in the call.

"Okay," Agent Walker responded abruptly, all business.

Chuck sighed, his 'talk' wasn't getting anywhere with Sarah now that Agent Walker had moved into protection mode. But there was another bit of critical information he still had to convey.

"Oh, and Sarah, there's this pet carrier that's sitting empty in the home theater room," Chuck spouted quickly.

"Well, stay put. I'll have Casey check the police bands and run a search to see if anything turns up," Agent Walker finished and disconnected the line.

"Okay . . . I'll _talk_ to you later," he said although he was the only one still on the line. _So much for 'talking'._

Just then a ferret ran across the Nerd Herd tech support desk, grabbed the beef jerky sitting on the desk next to Chuck, and hopped over the nerd's head through the air to DVDs.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!!! What the . . . FERRET?" Chuck jumped like a little girl and climbed up on the desk as the real mandom in the store was about to begin.

And then Lester ran by with mop in his hand swinging wildly at the critter.

The ferret climbed down and under the DVD rack as he snacked on the beef jerky he had just snaked from Chuck. DVDs were literally flying off the shelf, but not due to the store's after Christmas sales bargains. Rather, Lester was engaged in a full-out front assault to save BuyMoria. The ferret finished the jerky, climbed to the other side of the rack, and jumped into the pile of fake snow that was still there from Christmas.

Morgan back from his break was standing by the North Pole sign. He saw the little critter run toward him and he smiled.

"Snow angels!" he quipped as the ferret writhed for a moment in the white stuff not so unlike the furry man-boy had done only a few days earlier.

Then the critter popped up, looked at him, and raised his nose to smell something unfamiliar. With a good sniff, the creature's eyes widened and it ran away toward home appliances. Apparently, the critter couldn't take Morgan's 'Mandom' or maybe it was the mandom that was coming at it with the mop -- Lester was closing in.

That was when the critter spotted another morsel. The ferret found . . . Casey's missing appendage! How it had ended up there from the breakroom was anybody's or any critter's guess. But there it was now in the polecat's mouth! _Ferret War Games in BuyMoria!_

The commotion caught the attention of the store's very odd Assistant Manager. He had just arrived for his shift and ran over to see what Lester was wildly swinging that mop at. Emmitt looked down and saw the flesh that was previously John Casey's toe. The weak stomached Milbarge suddenly felt his throat close in on him. He moved his hands up to his neck. Morgan noticed Emmitt's distress and ran over to lend a hand.

Our little hero Morgan motioned to his own throat and asked, "Emmitt, are you choking?"

Milbarge's eyes widened but his throat did not. Morgan moved swiftly. He reached around the Assistant Manager locked his hands and began to give several inward and upward thrusts with his fists.

Milbarge focused on the ferret. The critter was watching Milbarge and the spectacle that was taking place above around him. The ferret dropped the toe and hissed in what could only be described as ferret laughter. Suddenly Emmitt was able to breath again.

"Good thing you made us take that CPR course, huh Emmitt?" Morgan smiled.

Emmitt just looked back in wide-eyed at Morgan.

Meanwhile back at his apartment, John Casey was observing the events in real time. In horror at the site of that critter with his toe in his mouth, the Major called his only resource in this time of need.

Standing on top of the Nerd Heard support desk, Chuck heard his phone ring. He looked on the caller id, _Great, Casey._

"Hello?" he answered.

"Eyes on the prize Bartowski, your mission is to secure the missing digit from that rodent," the Major stated.

"Ferret actually," Chuck corrected him.

Casey grunted with his anger center rising. "Buck up soldier. If you allow that . . . ,"

". . . ferret . . . ," they both said in unison.

". . .to get away with my toe, I personally will break out my pliers on one of your appendages and I'm not necessarily limiting my threat to your fingers or toes," Casey threatened. Chuck looked down his torso in horror.

"So get down of that desk and secure my toe!" Casey commanded and hung up.

_There was more than one way to skin a polecat_, Chuck thought.

"Morgan!" Chuck yelled.

"Yeah, Chuck!" he responded.

"Grab the pet carrier from the home theater room!" Chuck directed.

Chuck jumped down from the desk and ran over to the family DVDs section, or at least what was left on the racks. He was looking for something in particular. And he found it. He unwrapped the DVD and ran over to the wall. Just as Global Thermo-Nuclear War was threatening (due to the movie _War Games _playing in the background), Chuck pulled out that video. He stuck the new DVD in and waited for the critter's reaction.

Suddenly on the wall of televisions, a much different scene came into view. It was the Kalahari Desert!

Roscoe did a double take and abandoned the toe. He ran over to the wall of televisions for a closer look.

_.............Meet the Whiskers!_

Ahhhh, the lovely Flower -- Roscoe's lovely Desert Rose. The ferret raised up on its hind legs and watched.

_.............Zaphod, her partner_

Roscoe spit and started to engage in the frenzied series of sideways and backwards hops -- the Ferret War Dance.

_.............Youssarian, with some social problems _

_.............Mozart the caring one_

_.............Tosca, the rebelous one_

_.............Courageous little Shakespeare_

_.............And the naughty kids_

With the critter's attention diverted to _Meerkat Manor -- Season 1, _Chuck motioned for Morgan who had the carrier in hand to jump the ferret and cover it. In one swift motion, the weasel was contained.

For the second time in two days, Morgan had saved the day. It was too bad that his damsel had the day off and wasn't there to see it.

Chuck then ran over with a BuyMore plastic bag and secured the appendage without physically coming into contact with it. He double knotted the top of the bag just in case.

Casey called Chuck again. "End that critter, Bartowski!" he commanded.

"Wait Casey, that's Jeff's best buddy," Chuck responded.

"He almost ate my toe!" Casey fumed.

"Well, it is a little late to reattach it now, isn't it?" Chuck chuckled.

"I'm going to forget that you said that just this one time, I've got to go, the General is calling," Casey hung up and quickly answered the General's call.

As it turned out there was more of a threat to national security than the missing appendage and all that was the Global-Thermo-BuyMoria war that morning. Casey called Agent Walker who was well on her way before they finished their call. A distress call directly to NORAD had originated from the castle base. Someone had infiltrated their systems and knocked out the surveillance video feed into the castle.

* * *

Jeff woke up in a state of panic, he had to stop the aliens from nuking Earth. He ran over to the DU97 teraflop architecture modules and began to pull out tray after tray in an attempt to short the system. Of course, he had no idea what he was doing as the sparks were flying and circuits were shorting, but he had to save his mom, Anna, BuyMoria, and Roscoe!

* * *

Agent Walker entered the castle from one of the ducts leading from the street. She had to be careful and elude detection from whomever had infiltrated the base. She quickly slid through the duct and down toward the castle base. As she reached one of the intake grates, she reached in her pocket, grabbed her telescopic mirror, and extended it between and just below the prongs of the grate to ensure that the coast was clear below. She carefully removed the screws of the grate and opened it. Agent Walker then pulled her ninja sock cap out of her pocket, put it on her head, and rolled it down over her face. She was ready to go in. She secured her hands to the side of the duct and slid down. After dangling momentarily from the duct she landed softly feet first without a sound. She removed a syringe and a small vile labeled 'Scopolamine' from her other pocket.

He never saw her coming. In one swift move the Agent grabbed the nerd from behind and pumped him full of the syringe. His eyes dilated; he relaxed immediately and fell limp. She was surprised by his weight as he fell directly on top of her. "Great," she muttered as she tried to wrangle herself out from under the limp pile of geek flesh that was on top of her. Before Jeff passed out he gurgled, "I'll take a crack at the blonde." _Ewww!_ Even the Agent in her was disgusted.

* * *

Agent Walker looked at her watch, _11:25am._ The CIA crew would be arriving in 15 minutes. The Scopolamine-morphine cocktail that she had pumped Jeff full of would keep him out for at least a couple hours. It was just enough time to secure him in one of the holding cells and figure out their next move. Walker called Casey. A call with Beckman would begin in 5 minutes.

Just then, the Agent heard another pair of feet shuffling toward the main room. She pulled her gun and prepared to fire.

"Ahhh!" Chuck freaked with the same strange expression that had been present on his face on no less than four occasions on Christmas day.

Agent Walker immediately recognized the look and lowered her gun.

"Chuck! I'm sorry, I didn't know if someone else had made their way down here," she responded.

"Well, it was my lunch break and . . . what happened?" Chuck asked as he saw Jeff passed out and strapped to a gurney in one of the interrogation rooms.

"Best I can tell is that somehow he got in through one of the entrances to the castle. We're not sure which one yet. Casey's currently reviewing the security feeds to figure out what happened."

"Is he okay?" Chuck asked.

"Yeah, he's just sleeping. I was able to sedate him," the Agent said without remorse.

"Do you know if he saw anything? Does he know about me? About you? Casey? What are you going to do with him?" Chuck felt faint. His head was swimming.

"It's okay, calm down. We're going to have a call with Beckman in . . . ," she looked at her watch, "well, any minute now."

"Okay, Sarah, but you can't hurt him. It's Jeff." Chuck said absently and then refocused.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of him," she said as she put her hand on his shoulder.

Beckman popped up on the screen in front of them but Chuck didn't notice.

Agent Walker immediately removed her hand and faced forward in attention.

"Like you did Lt. Mauser?" Chuck undercut.

"What about Lt. Mauser?" the General asked.

"It's nothing ma'am. We've secured Mr. Barnes and the CIA unit is on its way to extract him," Agent Walker responded.

"Is Major Casey on the line?" Beckman asked.

"Yes, General, I am here," Casey responded as another screen popped on before them.

After Casey reported the findings from his review of the surveillance footage it was General Beckman's turn.

"Agent Walker, I want you to accompany Mr. Barnes to the CIA's holding facility off the coast of Nicaragua. There it will be determined what if anything this man knows about the Intersect, you, Agent Casey, and the castle."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You should be able to determine in the next few days through the use of your agency's interrogation techniques what, if any, threat he serves to the on-going success of this mission," the General stated.

"Wait! General this is Jeff Barnes, he's a burned out drunk there is no need to engage in water boarding, pulling out his finger nails, sleep deprivation, electric shock, and whatever other unspeakable means of torture," the queasy nerd insisted.

"Chuck?" Agent Walker responded with a 'not now' look.

"Mr. Bartowski, what is it that you think your government does to its citizens?" the General questioned.

Chuck opened his mouth and started to respond . . .but Agent Walker cut him off.

"General, I'm sorry, we'll take it from here," said the Agent.

Beckman signed off as did Major Casey.

"Chuck," Agent Walker began as she turned her head toward him and then stopped. She did not have time to talk through the real cost of his protection, it would have to wait. She saw on one of the still functioning surveillance monitors that the CIA extraction unit was at the back door of the Orange Orange dressed as EMTs complete with an ambulance. Sarah really wanted to talk to Chuck and tell him that he was wrong on so many levels about the torture techniques that were used in these off-site facilities, but the truth was she would be lying. So instead, Agent Walker opted for the easy answer.

"You watch too much tv!" she said with a half-smile. He followed her down to the interrogation room which held the sedated drunk. As they wheeled him to the door, she continued, ". . .besides, all they are going to do is put him in a cell and watch him. Don't worry, he'll be fine."

They covered Jeff with a sheet and met the CIA unit outside.

Chuck wished he believed her but he just wasn't sure.

"Guess our talk is going to have to wait," Chuck said as he saw her climb into the ambulance.

"Don't worry, I'll see you in a couple of days. We'll talk then. And Chuck, I promise, nothing's going to happen to Jeff," she responded as one of the men dressed as an EMT closed the door in between them.

Chuck watched the ambulance drive away as he walked back to the Buy More. He thought to himself, _all he could do was trust her._

Chuck was lost in thought and didn't notice another citizen of BuyMoria had been watching him while he was outside the Orange Orange.

* * *

Beckman called Major Casey back a few moments later after Agent Walker left with Barnes and Bartowski went back to work. The television at Casey's apartment came on.

"General, I thought you might have some additional details to discuss," the Major stated.

"Major Casey, this may be our chance to determine whether the CIA's involvement with the Intersect is necessary and cost-effective here. I want you to use this week to build an allegiance with the Intersect, and if successful the NSA may move to eliminate the CIA's involvement in this project altogether."

The General paused and then continued, "Plus, when it comes time to do what you do best there will be less collateral damage."

"Understood General," the Major affirmed as he turned off the communication feed. He swiftly let out a deep breath as he turned away from the television. The soldier knew his orders but couldn't help but think about the implications of the same.

When this mission began he would have liked nothing more than to eliminate the 'CIA's involvement' as the General had called it. The truth was the dutiful soldier didn't really care for the way the CIA operated, how the organization was run, and how easy it seemed for so many of their agents to shift their loyalties when convenient or it just served their own interests.

But Walker was different than the lot of them. She had become an ally. _She had even called him her 'partner._' NSA agents didn't have partners. The NSA operated by following a strict chain of command and here, his superior had just ordered him to build an allegiance with the Intersect to the detriment of the CIA. _Get Chuck to shift his allegiance_. _Right. _Chuck's loyalty to his friends and family was something that Casey had come to admire even if it had proved to be a challenge on more than one occasion.

And he knew of nothing he could do to _drive a wedge between Chuck and Walker._

Even Casey knew that chocolate was much better with peanut butter.

"Orders," he affirmed to the walls of his apartment. He would use this week to undercut Agent Walker _his partner _and build a relationship with the Intersect _Bartowski._ _Great, _he thought. He was starting to feel more and more like a CIA operative; everything that he hated. As he pulled out a gun and began cleaning the chamber he told himself, "The choice we made to protect something greater than ourselves is the right choice." Now he just had to remind himself to believe that statement.

* * *

**[A/N: If you have never had the pleasure, you should definitely check out the "Mandom" cologne ads on YouTube. They are priceless fun. Bronson flipping off his shirt is truly classic.]**

**[A/N: Urban Dictionary defines "Mandom" as: a completely out of control event that is random and is madness but no one really knows why it even took place in the first place.]**

**STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 4: Missing the Heat**


	4. Missing the Warmth

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 for his beta services!**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**

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**Chapter 4 – Missing the Warmth**

It had been a stressful morning. When he arrived, he came in to find the BuyMore in its typical state of disarray. His six years of community college had taught him the expansive vocabulary which best described the staff: unintelligible, undisciplined, and untrainable. He rubbed his stomach gently and coughed. The "untrainable" one had once again proven that moniker to be true. The former corporate efficiency expert pulled out his dictaphone and spoke softly into it.

"Never let Grimes perform the Heimlich maneuver on a customer," he dictated and frowned. It was puzzling that the little insignificant man – still blackmailing him with the incriminating video – cared enough to use the life-saving procedure on him.

"What's that Emmett? Heimlich maneuver?" Chuck asked as he passed him going down the hall toward the break room.

"Huh? Oh nothing. You do know that you have your remedial CPR course this week."

Chuck sighed and responded in monotone. "Yes, Emmett, I will attend the 30 hour remedial CPR course on my own time beginning with this week because I understand how important CPR is to the health and safety of Buy More employees and I realize that it would be a terrible thing if one of our customers needed emergency assistance and I would not be prepared to provide them with adequate care."

"Glad to see you are taking this seriously Chuck," Milbarge replied.

Chuck turned, rolled his eyes, and began to walk away. As he did, he muttered, "Morgan should have given you a HIND KICK."

"What was that Chuck?" the Assistant Manager rifled back.

"I said, 'Morgan should have given you the HEIMLICH . . . better'," Chuck responded with a sardonic tone.

"That's right," Emmett responded before catching himself. "What? . . . Where are you going Chuck?"

"Lunch!" Chuck responded not turning around as he walked into the break room.

Milbarge clicked on his hand-held recorder, "Resuming dictation: Confirm enrollment of 30 hour CPR remedial course for Chuck Bartowski and . . . John Casey." He remembered that his best salesman had also missed the company-sponsored training. Even if he was a model employee, Mr. Casey needed to understand the importance of training and following orders from a superior. With that thought, the dysfunctional assistant dictator of BuyMoria looked at his watch, _11:25 a.m. _

"Also, adjust Bartowski 5 minutes pay for early lunch departure."

He looked down and characteristically raised his right brow. _Bartowski doesn't have lunch at 11:30_. He walked swiftly and with purpose down to the break room, only there was no Chuck. He walked over to the bulletin board and slid his finger across Bartowski's name on the break schedule. _He knew it!_ (After all, he had spent the better part of 3 weeks developing the perfect schedule—thank goodness for that semester and a half of Wordperfect tables.) Chuck was not scheduled for lunch until 12:00 p.m. _I've got him now!_

Milbarge moved quickly back into the hall, checked the employee bathroom, the cage area, loading dock, and even his own personal hiding places. No Chuck.

As he walked back toward the sales floor, he clicked on his dictaphone and asked, "Where does Chuck go?"

The Assistant Manager continued in his relentless search to ferret out the missing Nerd Herder. He checked the home theater room, the audio installation bay, even the diaper change station in the customer restrooms. No Chuck. (He hadn't seen Big Mike that day either but his door was closed. Little did Emmett know, but the big man was still napping after his morning 'probing' from the Channel 13 news reporter.) Milbarge continued to the Customer Exchange Area where he found Morgan Grimes manning the desk that everyone else from BuyMoria knew as "The Hole." He turned and looked outside across the parking lot. And that's when he spied something unusual.

An ambulance was outside the back of the frozen yogurt shop. He eyed Bartowski's 'blonde bimbo' get into the ambulance as Chuck waived good bye to her. _How did he get to the Orange Orange from inside the Buy More?_ Emmett pulled up his recorder and spoke, "Perhaps, the question isn't 'Where does Chuck go?' But rather, 'How does he get there?'"

Morgan's ears perked up when he overheard the name of his best friend come from the nosy Assistant Manager's mouth.

"_Emm-ett_," Morgan said with a sideways glance as he pulled out a minidisk from his back pocket.

The Assistant Manager grimaced as he recalled the blackmail images of him yakking in Big Mike's office after that second fuzzy navel wine cooler.

Morgan gave a characteristic mocking nod and put the blank disk back in his pocket. The little bearded one had covered for his friend again, and this time, unbeknownst to the prying Milbarge, with a completely blank disk.

Emmett frowned and walked outside.

As Chuck approached the store front, he asked, "Ahh Chuck, did someone get a sick off a Fro Yo?"

Caught off guard, Chuck responded, "What? Why . . . do you say that Emmett?"

"I saw you and your lady friend outside the 'OH' 'OH' putting a customer into an ambulance," he responded making "O" hand gestures with his left and right hands.

Chuck reacted with a wide-eyed half-sneer at the odd man's lame attempt at humor.

"Your girlfriend should watch what she serves in her tasty treats, because we wouldn't want the health inspector to shut her down," the meddlesome Milbarge responded.

"Well, it's not like she served a _severed toe_ in her establishment."

With Chuck's retort, Emmett turned green and started to hyperventilate for the second time that day.

His work there was done. Chuck's sneer gave way to a snicker as he moved through the front door and bellowed to his best friend, "Hey Morgan, Emmett needs the Heimlich again!"

Perhaps Chuck was being harsh but he just wasn't in the mood to deal with Emmett for the second time in an hour. The Special Agent that was his girlfriend had just pointed a gun at his head. The same one that he had seen only days ago shoot an unarmed man. And now he had just helped her load his drugged up co-worker into a vehicle so that he could be probed by her at some undisclosed off-shore location.

* * *

Although Agent Walker was heading up the interrogation, it was determined that she would remain out of sight in the off chance that the subject didn't remember anything. In addition to herself, her team consisted of two interrogators and an analyst. To maintain plausible deniability (in the event the interrogation was later exposed), the identities and backgrounds of the other team members remained unknown to one another. Even still, Agent Walker could tell that she was the only field agent among them. As needed, she provided context and behind-the-scenes direction due to her unique understanding of the subject and the situation. But more importantly, Agent Walker was there to ensure that no information was leaked regarding her real protection responsibilities. In such an event, she was under orders to eliminate all persons with this knowledge — her team and Jeff included.

It had already been a long trip. As the sun rose over the waters off the Mosquito Coast, they were finally arriving at the CIA detention facility just off the east coast of Nicaragua. Agent Walker thought about one of the recent movies she had seen in the Bartowski living room on one of her many cover dates with Chuck—_Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_. It was not a particularly great film (especially the alien bit), but it sure would have been easier for her team to have reached their destination a matter of seconds by just following a trademark Indy red line on the map.

But there was no thin red line from Burbank to their secret destination. The trip started at LAX when they boarded the C-130J and flew south to Managua. Six hours later, they changed over to a smaller prop plane – a Pilatus PC-6 Porter – and headed to Bluefields and then on to Big Corn Island landing an hour and a half later. Under the cover of night they took a Carolina DLV218 skiff north to Little Corn Island arriving roughly an hour later. The last leg of their journey only took about 30 minutes to cross the half mile overland on three modified golf carts — Agent Walker and her blind-folded cargo in the center vehicle flanked in the front and rear by the rest of her team.

During the nine hour trip, her detainee remained heavily sedated. Through her time with the CIA, Agent Walker had never developed a taste for this part of the job. She wasn't soft and she didn't let her emotions enter into it, but there always seemed to be some residual affect on her subconscious. She was changed by her subjects each time. She always remembered their eyes. The rabid fear of their pupils gave way to the shock-induced panic, ultimately ending with dilated resignation. She knew those stages well. She had even experienced them first hand. But as difficult as it was to bear the brunt of such horror, she found that perpetrating those acts was what haunted her.

She let out a long breath and turned to look back at the oblivious captive in the back of the plane. _Captive? Subject? Cargo? He has a name, _she told herself. _His name is Jeff Barnes._ She opened the file on her lap and read. He had well over a dozen misdemeanor drunk and disorderlies, but he had never gotten in a car and harmed anyone. The restraining order that prohibited him from DUIing — dialing under the influence — Tara Reid had long expired. Besides, the Agent thought, that computer hack of the Grand Seville actually lead to the capture of Russian crime boss Victor Federov. It wasn't like 'Serial Killer Jeff' (she could hear Ellie Bartowski's words ringing in her ears) was a real serial killer. But before she could finish partially redeeming the burned-out drunk, she saw the next entry. Wide-eyed she read aloud, "He installed video cameras in the women's bathroom stalls at the BuyMore in the late 80s?" Even the Patriot Act didn't let the government go that far. _Surely, these cameras were overhead_, she hoped. She abruptly closed the deviant's file. _Well, Jeff Barnes may be a perv, but he's not a perp._

She turned back to look at Jeff again. Maybe they and he would catch a break. There was a chance that he didn't know anything. Considering the amount of alcohol that he normally drank, that was a real possibility. With any luck the next couple of days would be uneventful, both Jeff and her team would receive a reprieve, and she would be able to get back to her real job of protecting that which was most important to the government, and to her.

* * *

It had been an uneventful Saturday morning. It somewhat reminded him of what things were like before the Intersect had invaded his brain. There were no headaches, no flashes, no lies, no assassins, no excitement, and no adventure.

After a couple of service calls, Chuck found himself back at the Buy More as the lone Nerd Herder in a sea of green shirts. Since Skip was on an off-site install, Chuck had to man the service desk during lunch. He didn't mind really. Manning the tech support station was the only down time he had since being sent the Intersect. What he would give for a real day off.

That's when his best pal in the whole world surprised him with a little surf & turf from Lou's deli. Admittedly, it was a strange sandwich combination—half meatball, half tuna. The two buddies had acquired a taste for this combo long before they had actually developed discerning taste buds. In truth, Chuck would have preferred one or the other but he couldn't deny Morgan's consideration. It was his friend's gesture that brought the first smile to Chuck's face since Christmas.

For his part, Morgan could tell how much Chuck was missing Sarah and it had only been a couple days. Morgan too, was missing his main squeeze. He didn't like the way he had left things with Anna on Christmas Eve and he hadn't had a chance to talk with her before she left for Taiwan to visit her parents over the holidays. Morgan thought it just like the old days, with him serving as Chuck's wingman while sharing a sandwich. Unfortunately, they weren't allowed to eat together due to the Milbarge staggered lunch schedule. So Morgan had to leave Chuck by himself at the Nerd Herd desk.

While Chuck was munching on the meatball portion of his sandwich, he found himself wondering about how things were going down in the surf and turf of Central America. He wasn't the only one thinking about the missing Nerd Herder. Those in the land of BuyMoria were also concerned about Jeff. No one had heard from him since Christmas Eve. Chuck had wanted to make up some explanation—that Jeff had gone to Tijuana for a couple days, followed Widespread, went on a Twinkie binge—any number of things could have kept his co-workers from asking more questions. But, Casey said no. He could hear the grumpy agent's words in his head, _it was best that he just disappeared._ Then, if the government did have to take care of him, it would be easier. _Take care of him_, Chuck sighed with impending resignation.

As he reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth, Chuck couldn't help but think back to when Jeff interviewed with him for the Assistant Manager position. Chuck reflected on the event with somber amusement as he examined the soiled napkin. He could visualize the hasty red scribbling of Jeff's improvised resume, rendered on a napkin not unlike the one in his hand. _Jeff's now going to get to add new bullet point to his resume. Along with 'I know where the bodies are buried' and 'I've worked here forever,' he's going to be able to add, 'I found the Scooby Doo secret passage way to a super-secret government operation and my co-worker has a computer for a brain, a fake relationship, and a cold-school killer for a co-worker,' and oh yeah, 'I am being tortured by the CIA.'_

* * *

_Torturous paradise, _the Agent thought stoically as she looked out the window at the secluded sand and surf. The few people that lived there knew nothing of what went on at this ramshackle of a place. It was just the type of remote frontier seclusion that one could get lost in forever. There was little to no police presence, the islanders didn't ask questions, and thankfully a few decades ago the Nicaraguan president had backed out of the treaty which had made this island subject to American law. It was this last fact that lead to the CIA's development of this facility. No American law meant no extradition, no habeas corpus, almost no 'inconvenient' limitations of any kind. Not that any of those things were on Agent Walker's mind at that moment.

She found herself spending most of that morning not thinking about the mission details that brought her down to this distant island, but instead she thought about the bigger 'what if' questions. As she closed the blinds to the barren sands outside, she contemplated, the prospects in front of her – not only for herself but for everyone involved. What if Jeff Barnes did indeed discover the truth? That his de facto manager, Chuck Bartowski, was the most valued piece of intelligence on the planet? That Chuck's girlfriend was a CIA agent assigned to protect him? And that his ill-tempered co-worker, John Casey, was also a government authorized assassin?

_Who cared if he knew about Casey?_ She thought for a moment and then she paused. _She did._ Yeah, the NSA agent was rough around the edges and his sarcasm grated her last nerve. Yeah, he was a cold-school killer. But, wasn't she? She sighed. _Casey was her partner_. They had come a long way in the last year in a half. They had developed a trust when it came to the Intersect's protection. However, she couldn't help but think that there were still limits to that trust.

_Trust._ Her mind moved from the grumpy member of her team and on to the one that got under her skin in an altogether different fashion. Would he ever trust her? He had been a little 'off' ever since Christmas Eve. He definitely knew something that he wasn't telling her and it was really starting to affect both of them. The panicked looks he gave her at Christmas were a little unnerving. And just before she left with Jeff, he brought up Lt. Mauser again. Could Chuck have seen her shoot him? It would make sense especially in light of the fact that he was practically begging her not to harm Jeff. And now he had no idea what was going on down here. _How am I ever going to get him to trust me now?_ Her mind went blank.

Meanwhile, in the adjacent room two of her agency's finest had spent the better part of the morning subjecting themselves to torture but not by their own hands. Even they were beginning to think that they should have shot themselves up with some of the Triazolam that they had given the other person in the room. They sure wanted to forget the morning and the foul things their captive was spouting off.

"Pay back is a bitch," he remarked from inside the interrogation room.

Apparently, Jeff Barnes knew something about interrogation techniques. His incessant rambling about the 'mother ship' and the 'visitors' was clearly torturing this team of CIA interrogators. The two men across from him gave each other a look which expressed the feeling that Antero-grade amnesia was looking more and more like a viable option _for them._

"Why don't you come over here lizard head and see if I can peel that fake skin off your face," said the crazed geek.

"Huh? Mr. Barnes, we're here to help you," said the shorter man dressed in a black suit.

"Yeah right, first you beamed me up and now you're just going to fatten me up so that you eat me later," Jeff sneered.

"Eat you?" the other agent questioned.

"Yeah, eat me. I've seen V, V-The Final Battle, and even V-The TV Series, and if you ate my ferret, so help me, I WILL CUT YOU!" The wide-eyed rage-filled nerd was definitely in prison-mode.

"Wait, on second thought, don't come near me. I don't want you sticking any worm in my ear or some Kuato in my belly. Then the next 'Thing' I know my head pops off and sprouts spider legs," said the deranged captive.

The two interrogators looked at each other in unison and mouthed, _"What the . . . ?" _

"No! You keep your distance," Jeff said as he backed up and pointed his finger at both of them in succession.

"Agent J and Agent K . . . Agent Mulder and Agent Scully . . ." he continued.

The two men looked at each other confused.

"Agent Smith. . ." Jeff said as he looked at the smaller G-man.

". . . and _upgrade_ Agent Smith," as he looked at the larger man.

"We're getting nowhere," said the 'upgrade' agent as he looked back into the mirror and signaled (with a swift hand motion across his throat) that it was time for a break.

"Let's get him dinner," responded the other man as they left the room.

The larger agent returned with a warmed TV dinner that consisted of ham with red-eye gravy, peas and carrots, mashed potatoes, and a cherry cobbler. They left Jeff alone to eat in peace. While they told one another they were giving their subject a break, the truth was they were both freeing themselves from their captive. This had to be one of the strangest interrogations any of them had ever seen.

On the other side of the mirror in the adjacent room Agent Walker was still being held captive by her thoughts as she looked at the blinds covering the calm seas outside. It was when they served Jeff dinner that the analyst on the other side of the room called her back to reality.

"Ma'am, you've got to see this."

She turned around and looked through the two way mirror to observe a strange site—Jeff was making a Devil's Tower out of his Mashed Potatoes.

"Looks like we've got a classic case of Close Encounters of the Nerd Kind," responded the bookish analyst.

She smiled. "He thinks he was abducted by aliens?"

"Well now that's just plain crazy. Why would he be acting this way because he thought some illegal immigrants took him," said the smaller interrogator.

Sarah giggled, "Agent _Smith_, where have you been?"

"Hey, that's what he called us. What does that mean anyway?" the larger interrogator questioned.

"The Matrix, Independence Day, Men In Black," Agent Walker rattled off all of the movies she had seen at the Bartowski apartment over the past year.

The brainy analyst next to Agent Walker laughed.

"Obviously, you don't know a thing about . . ." Agent Walker began but was cut-off.

". . . geeks?" the larger man interrupted.

"Nerds actually, but well, I think geek may apply to this one as well," she said while watching him pick his ear with his fork.

"Look, we've been going at this all wrong. I think we need a carrot," she said.

"A carrot? But he already has carrots," responded the smaller man.

"And you wonder why you never made it out in the field?" she joked as she looked at her watch.

"It's time for you to call in and give your initial assessment ma'am," said the analyst.

Relieved she looked at the rest of her team and responded, "I don't think we're going to need any of the heavy stuff. We should be able to complete the interrogation this evening. Just get the kit with his belongings and wait until I get back. Oh, and be sure not to let that thing out, you wouldn't believe the damage that it caused back state-side."

Her team didn't know if she was talking about the spaz inside the interrogation room or the spazzed out critter that had accompanied him on the trip.

* * *

Down in the castle, Major Casey and the NSA cleaners were finally finishing up their work straightening the mess that Jeff Barnes had inflicted to the compound only a couple nights before. The physical clean-up and re-establishment of the surveillance feeds had been an easy to fix. Since Casey was still on worker's compensation leave, he had been required to complete his protection detail of the world's most valuable asset from 30 feet below. If anything raised a suspension, he was prepared to take Bartowski into custody no excuses. After all, he wasn't going to let the nerd talk him out of another toe.

Major Casey wasn't the only government operative that had been crippled that week. The castle's DU-97 had been out of commission since Jeff struck. Casey thanked the NSA cleaners as they completed their work and got the system back on-line. As they left, the Major thought it was good to have the base back in tip-top shape and just in time for his status update with General Beckman and Agent Walker.

He was interested to find out what progress had been made with the interrogation of the burned-out drunk. After having to deal with all of the mess in the castle, his angry-center wanted to lay hands on the creep himself.

Of course, he knew that the General had different plans for having the CIA head up the interrogation. Beckman had made it his mission to ensure that Bartowski's allegiances were firmly in the NSA camp. For his part, this task was going to be one of the hardest short-term assignments he had. Casey recognized that his past conduct wouldn't make it easy. Still, the nerd had a forgiving, if not naïve, spirit. Hopefully, Chuck would forget that he had recently hand-cuffed him to the counter at the Orange Orange. Luckily, his BuyMore worker's comp leave would end the next day and so he would be able to get in some face time with the Intersect and work on establishing the firm allegiances that the General sought. Even though he despised this assignment, admittedly he did hate feeling like the third-wheel on Team Bartowski's bicycle.

"Major Casey, are you secure?" General Beckman popped up on the screen in front of him.

"Yes, General," he responded.

"I also have Agent Walker on the line," the General explained nonchalantly so that the Major knew not to discuss the 'allegiance' operation.

"Agent Walker, where are we with the Barnes interrogation?" the General asked.

"We've made good progress, ma'am. It appears that Mr. Barnes has no idea what he saw in the castle. The subject believes that he was abducted by aliens. There is no evidence that he suspects any connection between the castle base and the BuyMore. To be sure, we were about to introduce some items which are familiar to him and observe his reaction. If he has no recollection of anything which would compromise the Intersect or our operation, I would recommend that we release Mr. Barnes while keeping a watch on him in conjunction with our normal protection detail of Chuck Bartowski."

"Very good Agent Walker. Be thorough in your interrogation."

"Yes, ma'am. I believe that we will be finished with our work this evening and ready to ship out in the morning so that I can resume my regular duties back state-side," the Agent responded.

"No. Agent Walker we want you to be sure that there are no threats with the Barnes situation. Please keep him there for the next few days to observe in detail his mannerisms and responses to stimuli. We don't want to rush to a conclusion. Besides, we have the situation in hand, don't we Major Casey?"

"Yes General. We have the castle base back on-line. The Intersect has not had any flashes and remains secure."

"How has Mr. Bartowski been since the hostage situation?" the General asked.

"Fine ma'am. I haven't detected any residual affects," Casey responded.

Down off the coast of Nicaragua, the Agent thought about the Major's statement. For her part, she knew that there definitely was something going on with Chuck. But Casey hadn't seen it? She continued to watch the screen as Casey completed his report.

"Chuck and I will be together all day tomorrow," Casey continued.

With this revelation, Agent Walker's sober expression gave way to a smile. She had to catch herself from letting out a chuckle when she thought of Casey having to spend an entire day with Chuck. Apparently, Major Casey caught Agent Walker's expression.

"Well, I thought about renting a movie, ordering pizza, and then cuddling with Bartowski on the couch but management demands at the BuyMore require otherwise. We will be attending a remedial CPR course due to our missing the safety test while we were involved with the Jill Roberts situation," Casey responded snidely.

"Major Casey you have your government's full support. Whatever you need to secure the Intersect, make it so. That is all," General Beckman commanded.

As the connection was severed, Agent Walker's somber expression returned. She stood before the monitor in silent contemplation. She had reported success, the interrogation revealed nothing unusual, she would be able to complete the assignment, and then return within the next day. But it was puzzling that the General didn't want her to back right away. And then Beckman gave Casey free reign to do what he wanted with Chuck. Something didn't seem right. She couldn't help but think she was being played and Chuck along with her.

* * *

**[A/N: Will Jeff ever see Roscoe? Will Casey be successful in obtaining Chuck's allegiances? Will Chuck and Sarah ever be reunited? All these questions and more will be answered in the next two installments of Chuck v. The Burning Man.]**

**STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 5 – Still Missing the Warmth & Chapter 6 – New Year's Heat!**


	5. Still Missing the Warmth

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader and top-secret reconnaissance gatherer in the Chuck universe!**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**

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**Chapter 5 – Still Missing the Warmth**

It always amazed Steve how cold the desert got especially when his generator was on the fritz. As he worked to restore life to the old dilapidated engine, he reflected on what brought him there to this remote stretch of land in the first place. He had been out in the Nevada wilderness for well over a decade now after having left his teenage kids to fend for themselves. In his own way he thought it was for their own good. It didn't mean that he didn't miss them; it was just that he knew he was no good for them.

During the cold winters, Steve Bartowski often stayed holed up in his '66 Airstream Overlander, alone. He knew that if he didn't get this jalopy of a machine back in working order soon, he could freeze to death and no one would ever know it. There simply was no one around for miles. No one to bother him about what he was doing, or question the choices he'd made in his life. No one to ask him, he laughed mirthlessly, about the facts in the framed photo on his coffee table. He paused and stared at the image of his daughter and son. No one, he thought, to ask him anything at all.

He took out the existing spark plugs and blew on them, then replaced them and crossed his fingers. As the generator shuddered and coughed its way back to life, the desert dweller heard one voice in his head, and it said, "Aces! Dad, Aces!"

* * *

Chuck was thankful not to have to go into work that day. Unfortunately, he had to spend all day in a CPR course courtesy of the Buy More's latest lower management hire. As he sat silently at the kitchen table eating his berry loops, he wondered if the government could pull a 'Harry Tang' on Emmett Milbarge. If nothing else, it sure would make his cover life easier not to have to deal with the weaselly ass-man on a daily basis.

He didn't mind the CPR training but it was the fact that he would have to complete the class with John Casey. His protector always had a way of making Chuck feel like an insignificant pest. He sighed when he thought about the quips the Agent would surely hurl his way when he practiced mouth-to-mouth on a blonde resuscitation doll.

Across from the table, Ellie Bartowski sat silently and observed the distant expression on her brother's face as he slowly ate his cereal. She had long recognized that her brother was not a morning person. But, it was apparent to her that he was down and she _knew_ the reason.

"So how's Sarah? I haven't seen her for a couple of days," she inquired over the top of her newspaper.

"Me either," Chuck spouted off without thinking.

Ellie tilted her head to the side questioningly as she put down her paper to focus on him.

"Oh. I'm sorry Ellie. She just went on a trip . . . to see her parents." Chuck responded.

Ellie's quizzical look subsided.

Chuck was secretly thankful that he had finally come up with a cover lie for Sarah that didn't involve a spastic colon reference.

"Why didn't you go with her?" Ellie responded this time with a disapproving look.

"Well, I couldn't get off work. With all that happened at the Buy More on Christmas Eve, you know, John Casey getting shot, Lester tweaking his neck, and Emmett's mom's leukoplekia—"

Dr. Bartowski smirked and shook her head non-verbally rejecting Chuck's explanation. The elder Millbarge's 'oral plaque' was certainly _not _the reason her brother could not meet his girlfriend's parents.

"—not that I know what that is, Anna's also visiting her parents in Taiwan, and so we are really short-staffed at the store," Chuck finished his rambling explanation with a weak smile.

His sister smiled back. She had apparently let him off the hook, sort of.

"Okay, but have you talked to her?" she pressed and took a sip of her coffee.

"No, she's somewhere that she can't be reached," he responded again without thinking.

Ellie put down her mug and looked back at her brother confused. "I thought you said she went back east. I'm assuming you didn't mean east Turkestan."

Chuck mouthed, _Turkestan?_

"Yes, no. Wait, yes," he paused and recovered, "I called her last night and we've been playing phone tag. She's fine." He lied. He hated lying to his sister.

"Well, did you tell her about the New Year's Eve party?"

"Yeeeeahhh," he drew out and continued, "that's . . . why I called her." More lies, he internally lamented.

"Well, is she coming? I sure hope she's going to be here. You are just so mopey when she's not around. Plus, I miss seeing her. She's kind of like the sister I never had," Ellie said sweetly. She took another drink from her mug.

"I don't know, but I'm sure Sarah will come if she's back in time," he sighed and let out a deep breath.

"Well, be sure and pick up some gardenias just in case. They're her favorite, right?" his sister said as she put down her coffee and focused on her brother.

"Yeah," Chuck responded genuinely with a half-smile.

Ellie returned the same half-smile with a grin of her own.

"You know Chuck; I don't think I've ever met anyone whose favorite flower was a gardenia," she said rather deliberately.

"Yeah, well, she's a unique girl," he responded as he stood up and took his dishes to the kitchen.

"Why do you think she likes them?" Ellie asked.

"I don't know, it's probably because they smell great. You know, the sweet scent of the solitary white cluster of petals backed against the beautiful dark green glossy foliage," Chuck smiled as he rambled on from the kitchen.

Ellie interjected, "Yeah, maybe that's it."

Chuck couldn't help but think that he was missing something but he didn't have time to finish the conversation. He was late for a little mouth-to-mouth with another blonde. As he ran out the door, he heard his sister shout to him.

"So get the flowers and maybe you'll find out for sure on New Years!"

* * *

Agent Walker was anxious to complete this mission and return to the relative normalcy of her long-term assignment. The longer she stayed in this remote paradise, the more concerned she became with the way that her status update had gone the day before. Beckman did not want her back and she gave Casey the 'government's full support.' Something just didn't add up. During their briefing the night before, Casey had reported that Chuck was fine. But Agent Walker knew that something was wrong with Chuck--at the bare minimum he had been sporadic since Christmas. Had Casey not seen this? Or did he see it and he just didn't make it part of his report? If that was the case, why not? There were too many pieces missing from this puzzle to get the full picture at this point. She needed to talk to Chuck. She resolved herself to follow up on her instincts further after the morning observation of her subject.

When she walked into the observation room, she noticed that she wasn't the only one who was restless. Apparently, the interrogation team had forgotten to take away what remained of Jeff's dinner the night before.

As she walked closer to the two-way mirror, she noticed that Jeff had painted a large red "V" on the mirror. _Guess he didn't care for the cherry cobbler._

Directly in front of the mirror on the other side of the room, Jeff was sitting at the table staring straight forward. He was down to his undershirt and shorts. He had abandoned his BuyMore uniform not due to any of the CIA's interrogation techniques but instead because he thought it was time for 'prison rules.' His tie was wrapped Rambo-style around his forehead.

Jeff began to whistle the theme from _Bridge over the River Kwai_, – not that he actually knew that movie – he just thought it was something that cool guys like Judd Nelson had invented in _The Breakfast Club_ for moments like this. Jeff whistled. He whistled for his mother, he whistled for Anna, he whistled for BuyMoria, and he whistled for his beloved Roscoe.

As Agent Walker watched Jeff from the other side of the mirror, she turned to the interrogation agents who were observing him silently. "I think it's time we returned some of his belongings, don't you?"

"Anything to get that smell out of here," said the smaller interrogator.

"Be careful, he's got that caged animal look about him," Walker responded.

"Are you talking about the subject or the ferret?" the interrogator asked.

"Both," she answered.

As the CIA interrogator walked in the room, Jeff gave him a sober skeptical look, a look which had been absent from the nerd since the early 80s.

"Mr. Barnes, I thought we would bring you your things in a gesture of good will."

The agent opened Jeff's bag and placed its contents on the table one-by-one: his Buy More jacket, his drinking pants, his Missile Command tape, his musical montage of Anna, and even his two six-packs of beer. Jeff looked back at the agent and licked his lips. He sure was thirsty but he was not going to give in that easily.

The larger agent opened the door and brought in another package covered in a sheet. When he took the sheet off, something magical happened. Both creatures made eye contact in only what could be described as pure love.

Jeff then reached down into his boxers. From both inside and outside the interrogation room, all eyes were fixed on the deviant that was Jeff Barnes.

"Please God, no," said the smaller agent inside the room.

Only this time, Jeff wasn't being the perv.

He reached into his shorts to remove the plastic fork and knife that he had stowed away from last night's dinner.

The agents inside the interrogation room looked at each other and each let out the breath that they were collectively holding. The smaller agent took a handkerchief out of his pocket and picked up the plastic wear carefully ensuring that he didn't come into contact with either item.

"Thank you Jesus!" responded the analyst outside the room. Even he had had enough of this interrogation assignment.

Inside the room, Jeff asked, "Can I hold him?"

"Sure, but before you do, can you at least put some pants on?" asked the taller interrogator.

"Okay," Jeff responded and grabbed his rainbow colored pants sitting in front of him on the table.

The interrogators left the room and allowed Jeff time to get reacquainted with his furry friend, Roscoe.

As strange as the events were that had just transpired, Agent Walker was touched. For the first time on an interrogation detail she wasn't haunted by absent eyes of pain and terror. Instead, she saw the look of love in the nerd's eyes. And for no apparent reason she felt inspired herself to call someone she cared about, even if only her subconscious knew the true depth of those feelings.

* * *

While stuck in CPR class, Chuck looked down as his phone rang. It was Sarah. He gave a conflicted half-grimace, half-smile as he snuck out the back of the room and into the hallway for a bit of privacy. Even though he was still dealing with her lying about the Mauser execution, he really needed reassurance from her that the sleep he was losing over crazed Jeff interrogation scenarios was just his subconscious in overdrive. The other part of him found that he really missed talking to her over the past three days.

"Hey Sarah."

"Hi Chuck," she responded happy to hear his voice.

He needed to know about Jeff. As much as he feared the answer he might get, he couldn't help bringing it up. "How is everything going, you know with . . ."

". . . great. He's fine. He doesn't know anything. It's okay you're safe," the Agent answered.

He let out a breath of relief. But then he stopped for a moment. It was the last phrase that lingered in his mind. It sounded so much like the lie she told him only a few days before; the lie that still bothered him. Was she telling him the truth? He really wanted to trust her. But more importantly, he yearned to believe her. Yet, everything within him told the nerd to get more information, to follow up, to make sure his co-worker was safe.

"You didn't have to . . ."

"No. I promise, he's just fine. He thinks he was abducted by aliens but other than that he . . ."

Chuck smiled at the last bit of information. She was telling the truth. But still, he needed to be sure and so he interrupted her.

". . . doesn't know anything about me, or you, or Casey?" Chuck finished.

"No," the Agent responded.

His relieved sigh gave way to a smile that let his insides relax for the first time in days. In that moment, he refocused and remembered with whom he was talking. In the time since she had come into his life, they had never been apart for this long. Sure, whatever it was that was going on 'under the cover' of their cover as boyfriend and girlfriend was hard to define even for Chuck—a guy rarely at a loss for words. But he struggled as to how to begin the real part of the conversation and so he remained uncharacteristically silent.

Sarah sensed the distance between them close with his silence. She knew him and his mannerisms: his ramble when he was nervous; his girlish screams in the face of danger; his assured voice when he took a heroic stand. But this was something new. His silence concerned her.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah . . . . I'm here," he responded.

_That's it?_ A silent Chuck was not something she was accustomed to. As she looked out the room with the view, she knew how much she had missed him. The barren dunes below made her think about the _absence_ of him. By the way Sarah was thinking about him, she knew that there was a real possibility that her guard would slip. She knew if she didn't watch herself carefully that she was going to have to carry this conversation and that was something she could not afford to do. Still she didn't want their talk to end and so she asked, "Is everything okay up there?"

"Yeah, but Casey's been acting a little weird," he responded.

Without realizing it, Chuck had granted the girl's heart a stay of execution. The agent in her snapped back to reality with a single purpose in mind. _Figure out what's going on, Walker!_, she told herself.

"What do you mean?" she asked, remembering the strange feeling she got after her conference call with General Beckman and Casey from the day before.

"Well, he's actually been nice to me as strange as it sounds," he half-joked.

She let out a deceptive laugh and responded, "Casey, nice?"

"I know, it's almost as if he's trying to take your place," Chuck responded off-handedly.

The Agent's ears perked up with this news. Something was definitely going on - even Chuck sensed it. Although she was reasonably sure of Chuck's loyalty to her, it was hard to be certain when hundreds of miles were between them. She needed more information but she didn't want to alarm him. So she just continued the jovial conversation.

"Well, I didn't know that cover 'boyfriend' was up for grabs, are you going to tell Ellie?" she kidded and thought perhaps Ellie had noticed a difference in Casey as well.

"Oh, that reminds me, Ellie and Devon are having their annual New Year's Eve Party and she asked me if you are coming," he unwittingly changed the subject.

In that moment, Agent Walker took a hike and Chuck's girlfriend Sarah took over. '_She asked me if you are coming_,' was Chuck's tried and true way of asking her out. Countless cover dates and major holidays always seemed to begin with '_she asked me if you are coming._' Sarah smiled but couldn't respond.

Chuck smiled through the phone and wouldn't let up.

"So are you coming? Do you think you'll be back?" Chuck asked. There was so much more to his query than either he or she would admit to each other.

"I don't know," she responded reluctantly.

There was a long pause as they both waited for the other person on the line to say something. But, neither one dared to break the silence.

In the hallway outside the classroom, Chuck noticed that John Casey had walked outside and was coming toward him.

"Well that's good news about Jeff. Hopefully, he'll be back home soon," Chuck said rather quickly and hung up the phone.

For a moment, Sarah was caught off-guard by his abrupt departure just when they were getting somewhere but then she realized what must have happened. _Casey._

After her call with Beckman and Casey and now with this news from Chuck, Agent Walker knew that something was going on. She could read between the lines. If she didn't know better, the NSA was making a play to cut her and the CIA out of the Intersect project. She knew Casey and appreciated his loyalties to the country and the NSA. She knew that he was just following orders. Still, she knew that the road ahead required her to make herself indispensable to the team. Only then would General Beckman see the value of her assistance. Until then, only one question remained; To what lengths was Casey willing to go to accomplish his task?

* * *

Casey noticed the haggard nerd in his room playing a video game with a piece of beef jerky hanging from his mouth. Chuck looked tired and out of sorts. Casey had noticed the change in his sleep patterns in the last few days but the Major chalked it up to nervous energy or even the absence of Walker. _Agent Walker, _how was he going to break Bartowski of her spell? Was it even possible? He even caught himself thinking, '_Couldn't they all just get along?'_ He shook his head and grunted as he quickly shut out the utilitarian socialistic propaganda that had unconsciously crept into his brain. He had to get his mind right. In tough times like these, he drew support from his hero, "The Gipper". He was going to tear down the Walker wall around Bartowski if it was the last thing he did. The Casey cold war was going to end one way or another.

Boldly, the Major rattled Chuck's window and startled him.

"Great, thanks a lot Casey. You just killed me. Some protector you are," Chuck joked as he put down the game controller.

Casey frowned. This shady allegiances business was going to be harder on him than he originally thought. Still, he remained resolved to complete his mission.

"We got a hit on some suspicious activity at a tournament over in Glendale," Casey said and motioned for him to come go with him.

"You want me to go with you?"

"Sure, chicken nec . . . _Bartowski_, I could use your eyes to see if you flash on anyone there," Casey caught himself, stopped, and made an obvious attempt to look sincere.

Chuck looked back at Casey curiously.

_This really wasn't easy_, Casey thought. Deception was a way of life for the CIA not the NSA.

"Okay, I'm in," Chuck responded. He grabbed his jacket and the jerky and they headed off in Casey's pride and joy, his 1985 Crown Victoria.

It was a short drive. _Thank god, _Casey thought. If he had to endure any more comments from the nerd about how he needed to get, XM, an iPod, CD player, or even a tape deck in his 80s showpiece, he would have strangled him. Still the Major had let Chuck fool with the radio without any comment for the entire ride. _All for the sake of allegiances, _he reminded himself.

As they pulled into the parking lot of the address, a visible scowl crept across Casey's face. Chuck looked up and read aloud the words on the front of the building "Happy Heights Senior Center?"

Casey grunted not at Chuck but really at himself and this stupid assignment. Of course, Chuck thought the grunt was directed toward him as usual.

They got out of the car and walked toward the entrance of the senior center. Outside the center there was a row of rocking chairs and benches completely filled with a generation of centenarians that had probably each been featured at least once by Willard Scott on the Today Show alongside a glass jar of Smuckers jelly.

As they neared the door Chuck noticed an easel with a poster which read,

_....................SCRABBLE TOURNAMENT...................._

_....................Each Wednesday, 2pm...................._

Chuck looked at his watch, _2 minutes til 2_.

"Wait, I'm missing a calm afternoon of Call of Duty to check out a senior, very senior, scrabble tournament?" Chuck asked sarcastically.

"Umm . . . Casey, we're the only ones who can walk without a walker. How are any of these seniors a threat to national security?" Chuck continued but stopped as he recognized the Major's face begin to turn a well-known crimson.

Casey paused and let his mood subside. He looked at the foot of one of the rockers where an elderly gentleman slept. On the ground in front of the man, two Doberman Pinchers laid on their paws silently. _Interesting protectors_, he thought. He wondered what this man needed with these fine specimens. He also thought about his own assignment serving as protection detail for the yammering geek next to him. _Would he be stuck with this guy that long?_ he wondered.

"Bartowski. Buck up," Major Casey commanded. His patience was wearing thin.

The dogs raised their heads and focused on the two younger gentlemen.

"COME ON," Chuck said assertively to Casey while he took the jerky out of his mouth.

With that command, the dogs took off toward them.

"RUN!" Casey commanded.

"Come on?" shouted Casey as they raced to the car. "You couldn't think of something else to say around Dobermans?" he yelled in indignation.

As they closed the distance to the Crown Vic, Casey turned around to face the dogs and to give Chuck a chance to make it to the car. Chuck jumped inside the car and slammed down the door lock on his side.

The dogs caught up to Casey and knocked him to the ground. While trying to fend off the attack, he yelled, "Help me out Bartowski! Wait no, stay in the car." He remembered, _he's Chuck's protector._

Chuck reached down for the handle of the car door but then remembered that he had his iPhone with him. He tapped a few times on the screen and in a matter of seconds he had downloaded exactly what they needed.

Casey looked up at the car and saw what he thought was Bartowski playing a game.

_Great, _he thought. But it turned out that the Major was wrong.

Chuck partially cranked the window down and pressed a button on his phone. Without any fan fare, the attack dogs abruptly disengaged and ran away. Casey looked back at Chuck confused.

"What did you do, call animal control?" Casey asked relieved.

"Well sort of—I downloaded 'Dog Whistle' on to my iPhone," Chuck responded.

Forget the Intersect, Casey thought, _this time Chuck had saved his ass from a literal chewing._

* * *

Agent Walker waited impatiently for her conference call with General Beckman to begin. It was imperative that she play her cards carefully and not let on that she knew what the NSA was up to. But regardless of how this call went, she had made up her mind that she was not going to give in that easily.

"Agent Walker," the General said as the screen came on.

"Yes, ma'am," the Agent responded.

"Do you have an update on the Barnes interrogation?" the General asked as she opened the file in front of her.

"Yes, ma'am. As you can see in the report I sent you this morning, Mr. Barnes is no threat to the viability of the Intersect project. After we reacquainted Mr. Barnes with his personal belongings and his pet, he disclosed everything that he could remember relevant to his discovery and exploration of the castle base," the Agent responded.

"And so, all that he remembers is that he woke up on a floor, strapped himself to a lie detector which told him that he had been abducted by aliens, ate some bad yogurt, fell on a dry erase board, woke up and saw what he believed was a nuclear war which was about to be perpetrated by some unknown aliens, and made every attempt to stop it by destroying their computer system?" the General read aloud.

"Yes, ma'am," Agent Walker responded affirmatively.

"And your interrogators planted the fact in his brain that he had, in fact, saved the world by destroying the alien technology?" the General continued to read the report.

"Yes, ma'am," the Agent responded.

"And he was given the normal anterograde amnesia inducing cocktail?" the General asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Barnes shouldn't remember a thing about the interrogation. However, I must note that the effect of the drugs that we gave him will run their course in about 12 hours and given his reaction it wouldn't be safe to administer another dose without causing permanent brain damage. Therefore, we need to move fast if we are going to return him to civilian life," the Agent reported.

"Excellent work, Agent Walker," the General responded as usual, sparing in her compliments and her praise.

"By the way, how did you ensure his cooperation without engaging in your agency's well known tactics?" Beckman asked.

"We gave him beer ma'am. That, and the love of a furry companion," Agent Walker responded.

"Between you and me, it never ceases to amaze me the lengths that nerds like this will go to get alcohol and women," the uniformed woman responded uncharacteristically.

Agent Walker smiled, suppressing a guffaw. It was not in her best interest to correct the General or the woman.

"I'm sure that the other nerd under your detail will be happy to see you when you arrive," the General finished and hung up.

Agent Walker stood there for a moment, turned off her communications equipment, and met the rest of the group outside. The blind-folded geek in the cart was out like a light; but not due to any CIA drug cocktail this time. Beer seemed to do the trick just fine.

Sarah was relieved. She had resolved that the team would part ways and leave that morning whether or not General Beckman had given the go-ahead. Luckily for her, Beckman had relayed those orders. She knew that she had to watch the General carefully and reminded herself to stay vigilant for warning signs in the future.

* * *

Even with all that had happened over the past week, Chuck found himself missing her. It had been the longest that they had been apart since she had walked into his life a year and a half ago. And now he wondered if she was ever coming back. He had trouble sleeping to be sure and was still haunted by dreams and even nightmares of her. But, still . . . he couldn't shake the thought of not having her there.

He had thought a lot about their phone call from the day before: what was said, what needed to be said, and what wasn't said. She remained true to her word and had taken care of Jeff, he knew it. In his silence, he had given her a chance to explain why she had lied to him about Mauser, but she didn't. As much as he wanted everything in the open, he didn't know if he could tell her how much he had missed her irrespective of her lie.

He scrolled through the pink iPod and looked over the playlist and songs he had added over the last couple of days: _Snow Patrol's The Planets Bend Between Us, Death Cab for Cutie's Transatlanticism, Matt Nathanson's Come On Get Higher,_ _Coldplay's Warning Sign,_ and_ Ryan Adams' Natural Ghost. _He looked back at this list and groaned. Coldplay? Oh, good grief. He really had it bad. He remembered hearing the song playing in the Buy More the day before and he had added it before his indie music snob self had had a chance to stop him. If he didn't watch it he'd be listening to that Tyler Martin garbage by the end of the week. Emboldened, he didn't care and played the song anyway:

_....................Warning sign,  
....................I missed the good part, then I realized,  
....................I started looking, and the bubble burst.  
....................I started looking for excuses.  
....................Come on in,  
....................I've gotta tell you, What a state I'm in,  
....................I've gotta tell you, in my loudest tone,  
....................That I started looking for a warning sign._

_....................When the truth is, I miss you,  
....................Yeah the truth is, That I miss you so.  
_

He sighed. Thank god that his Gamma Delta Phi brothers could not see him now because this type of behavior would have definitely gotten him 'treed' -- chained to a tree -- outside his Stanford fraternity house. He was listening to _Coldplay_ over a girl he hadn't seen in less than a week. A girl that he had only kissed, really kissed on less than a handful of occasions. _But those kisses_, he sighed. Instead of his GD Phi brothers providing the words of reason, the voice of another man came into his head, _show some self-respect Bartowski, you're a Man! _

Meanwhile, in the adjacent apartment that man was completing his day. He sat in his recliner in his boxers, white t-shirt, socks with calf garters, gentleman's robe, and head set. He was finishing off a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. The last words he heard from his ear phones that night were "Thanks Casey and goodnight!" Well, that and the Coldplay lyrics. As he fell asleep in his recliner, Casey gruffed to himself, "Love is for suckers." But who was he kidding? Even _he_ was somebody's 'Sugarbear.' That night the old curmudgeon had dreams of a certain French intelligence agent, her current cover name, a mystery. But that didn't matter because to him she would always be his 'Ilsa.' _Sucker._

* * *

**[What's going on at the Senior Center? Is Casey successful in his mission to formalize Chuck's alliance with the NSA? Is Sarah ever going to return? All of this and more in the upcoming installments of Chuck v. The Burning Man!]**

**STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 6 – New Year's Heat!**

**[A/N: I promise Ch.6 will be up this weekend as my Valentine's gift to all you in the Chuck fic universe. And if you want a vote on what happens, drop me a line soon. I'm notorious for putting your great ideas in the story].**


	6. New Year's Heat

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader and top-secret reconnaissance gatherer in the Chuck universe!**

**Special Author's Note: If you are not familiar with Ryan Adams' song _Natural Ghost_, download or stream it while you read the dance in this chapter. This is no 3-D gimmick; I promise it will make the story come alive on a whole different level.**

**If you'd like another hot take of New Year's Eve at the Bartowskis', check out Arathon73's stealthy POV reflection in _The New Year's Eve Kiss_.**

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**Chapter 6— New Year's Heat**

Leave it to Eleanor Bartowski to throw her annual New Year's Eve party outside in the courtyard of her apartment complex. Ever since Ellie had moved from Connecticut to Southern California for college she had loved the fact that she could entertain outside year round. While she missed the tingling feeling in her cheeks she got when coming in from the cold, she felt something akin to it every time the man standing next to her looked at her – like he was right now. That same wonderful man just warmed her cheek with a kiss. Pretty soon, she thought, they would be making things official and that warmed her heart. What an awesome new year it was going to be!

Most of the people at the party were her and Devon's doctor and residency friends. Her younger brother, Chuck, was an exception. She knew that this party wasn't something that he had looked forward to in the past, but this year she hoped that there was going to be one visitor that would make the party worthwhile for him. Ellie really wanted her brother to be happy; for him to find someone that brought as much joy to him as Devon brought to her. She knew that Chuck's girlfriend was something special. Sarah was practically family in her eyes – she was going to be her bridesmaid, Chuck had given her a family heirloom, and she had even caught Devon making hints to Chuck about "being next." For Ellie though, as much as she thought about all of those things, what really mattered to her was her brother's happiness. She was concerned because during the past week without Sarah, Chuck had reverted back to his 'Morgan years' behavior.

_Perhaps another Morgan 'miracle' was needed,_ she thought. It worked at Thanksgiving after all. From across the courtyard, she noticed that her brother even followed through with her suggestion -- he picked up flowers for the occasion. He gave all outward appearances that he was reasonably enjoying himself, but Ellie could see through her brother's façade. His increasing glances over those around him were a dead give away—he appeared anxious for the arrival of his only guest to the party. From the speakers in the courtyard Ellie heard the song _Dice_ by _Finley Quaye_ begin and she knew it was time to tend to her brother.

"Is Sarah back from her trip to see her family?" Ellie asked.

"I haven't heard from her," Chuck said, without inflection.

"Maybe her flight was just delayed a bit," Ellie offered with some hope.

Chuck gave a blank stare in return and took a sip from his glass.

"I'm sure she'll be here," she offered with a slight smile as the song played in the background.

_. . . . . . . . . . I am smiling, I think of you.  
. . . . . . . . . . Where your garden has no walls  
. . . . . . . . . . Breathe in the air if you care, you compare, don't say farewell  
. . . . . . . . . . Nothing can compare to when you roll the dice and you swear that your love's for me_

At that very moment, the long absent someone entered into the courtyard. Chuck, mesmerized by her appearance, could barely hear his sister's voice trail off, "Look there she is . . ."

It was dark outside but all Chuck saw was the beautiful aura that surrounded her. He couldn't be certain but he thought a breeze had picked up because her blonde locks had gently wisped back from around her face. Perhaps he was dreaming that she was coming toward him. It hadn't been a given that she was coming at all. But there she was now standing directly in front of him.

"Hi Sarah, I'm so glad you could come," Ellie said as she stepped partly between them and gave her a hug.

"How was your trip with your family?" she asked.

Sarah gave Chuck a smile and looked back at Ellie. _He was getting better at this – no spastic colon references this time._

"Fine. It was good to see them, but I'm glad to be back," Sarah responded.

"Us too, we missed you this week," she smiled and looked back at her brother. He glanced at her very specifically and then returned his gaze back to the new arrival. Ellie got the message – her welcome duties were done. It was time to let these two get reacquainted.

"Well, I've got to go check on something inside," Ellie remarked. With another quick hug to Sarah she added, "Welcome back home." Ellie broke the hug and moved on to some of her other guests at the party, although her attention remained with her brother and his girlfriend.

Sarah noticed that Ellie was still watching them. _You're going to have to sell it_, she told gave Chuck a peck on the lips and a lingering hug. "Hi Chuck, I missed you."

He too, knew that the elder Bartowski was still watching them and so he played along, "Me too."

As they broke, she noticed the bouquet in his hands.

"Oh, these are for you," Chuck smiled and handed her the gardenias.

She responded, "Thanks, they're my . . ."

"favorite." they both said in unison giving way to reciprocating grins.

"Yeah, . . . I know," he nodded reassuringly.

For a moment, Sarah shuddered at the thought that he did know her secret. But, as usual he missed the subtle clue.

"They smell so great and are beautiful," he continued, "just like you." The last part he added for the other party-goers around them.

While she smiled outwardly, underneath she was overcome with relief. It was only a matter of time that he would figure it out. She gave him another hug. During their embrace, Sarah noticed another pair of eyes staring at them through the blinds across from the courtyard.

As they broke apart, she looked at Chuck and asked, "How's . . ." as she nodded toward the adjacent apartment.

"Oh, he's fine, I think his pride is just a little wounded after I saved his hide yesterday," Chuck chuckled.

She smirked. "Then, why isn't he out here?"

"You know Casey, I think he'd rather watch us in his boxers from his living room than dress up for a party." Chuck's unwitting admission went much further than he realized. She was there with Chuck and Casey was not. Perhaps all of the General's scheming had not worked.

Agent Walker knew from their time apart that the NSA had likely made a play to take over responsibilities with the Intersect. She knew that if Beckman had her way, she would already be out of the game. But unlike the General, deep down Sarah didn't see Chuck as simply a pawn to be manipulated and sacrificed at will in the game of world domination and international espionage. He was more to her than that, even if the rules of the game prevented her from telling him. She was not prepared to simply step aside and now she knew that she still had time. As she thought this through she re-focused on Chuck who was still rambling on about Casey.

". . . besides with all the party planning, I think Ellie just forgot to ask him. And I figured he'd either be (a) at the party watching me or (b) in his apartment watching me and so I decided on (b). That way he would at least be comfortable in his apartment. . . . There simply was no sense in both of us being the only singles on New Year's," he joked.

She smiled back at him and returned his joke with one her own, "Yeah, you might have been 'forced' to kiss him again if I hadn't come along."

Chuck's eyes widened as he tried to shake off thoughts of the oh-so-unbromantic kiss he shared with Casey at the bioscience conference.

"Did you have to bring that up, _again_?" he laughed weakly. "I maintain that the man was dying!"

She giggled.

"Besides, I'm not the only one in this conversation that has gotten swept up in the moment of a near-death experience," he slyly kidded with a smirk.

_Touché. _Her jaw dropped slightly as if she was going to protest, but no words came out. Instead, she blushed slightly at the thought of their kiss at the docks.

"Well since Casey's not here, I guess I'm just going to be forced to kiss _you_ at midnight," he pointed at her and laughed.

Sarah thought back to a more serious conversation early on in their fake relationship which took place at that very spot.

"Forced? Would it be so bad?" she kidded.

Chuck grinned from ear-to-ear and laughed, "Ahh, I'm sure, I could suffer through it."

She laughed back and responded, "Me too."

"Well, at least I know to keep the mistletoe away from you and Casey at Christmas." Sarah couldn't help but bring 'that' up _again_, only this time Chuck abruptly stopped the repartee. She instantly noticed that the distance between them had increased even though neither of them had moved. Something was definitely wrong with him.

His silence made her uneasy. He was usually a barrel of laughs or nervous ramblings which made it easy for her to understand him and to respond accordingly. But not now. She shuddered to think that she may have done something for him to doubt her or worse that she had lost him. _But how could you lose something you never had_, she thought. They needed to talk about whatever it was, but not there.

She noticed that he was nervously looking at his watch. _10 minutes til midnight_. She knew what he was thinking as he looked up at the surveillance feeds outside in the courtyard.

"Look it's New Year's and I don't want . . ." he started.

She stopped him by putting her finger to his mouth and kindly shushed him. She looked around the courtyard at the crowd; no one would think a thing of them making out like crazy as the New Year began. But she could sense his detachment and knew that there was something still bothering him. _Being 'forced' to kiss her was the last thing that he needed right then_, she thought.

For her part, she knew that cover kisses like the one she was thinking about in her mind only a few minutes earlier were dangerous. They were dangerous for their cover, dangerous because of the emotion she knew was behind them, dangerous because she couldn't trust herself to just let go and be with him in the moment. No matter their competing reasons, it was apparent to her that both of them just didn't want 'to go there' in the few minutes that remained.

Agent Walker took Chuck's hand and led him inside his apartment to the empty living room. Under the watchful eye of only the NSA, she knew that neither one of them would be tempted to act. Or so she thought.

* * *

As it turned out Major Casey was not surveilling the 'Walker and Bartowski show' in his underwear. Sure big brother was always watching, but this time he had on his black 'Dennis the Menace's father's pajamas' (as Ellie Bartowski had dubbed them). He found it a bit odd that the two of them had ventured inside Chuck's apartment for the New Year's countdown; that was until he realized exactly what was going on. _Less temptation, _he realized. They knew that with only him watching, no cover kiss was necessary.

From his earphones Major Casey heard Agent Walker speak inside the deserted living room.

"Hi Casey, miss me?" the Agent asked, not unlike the way her former partner – Bryce Larkin - had once asked the Major.

Casey grimaced at the screen. _Smart Walker, very smart. _The gig was up and Casey knew it. After all, it didn't take a rocket scientist to know that the NSA wanted sole control of the Intersect. It had been that way since day one. In some ways Casey was relieved that she knew. Still, he couldn't help but feel like he had betrayed both of the other members of Team Bartowski. He knew that the impending fall-out from this betrayal would probably be their lowest point. It was something Casey dreaded but 'Orders were Orders,' he told himself.

* * *

Inside Chuck and Sarah could hear the party goers in the courtyard shout as the countdown to the New Year began.

_10_

_9_

_8_

They were both suddenly swept back to the definitive moment at the docks when Sarah first showed Chuck how she felt about him. She shuddered and he smiled. The awkwardness of Christmas Eve had been replaced by a better memory.

_7_

_6_

The fake couple saw Ellie and Devin just outside the open window. The engaged couple was happy to be in one another's arms to start the New Year off as it should be. When Devin began to kick off the celebration 'early' by kissing down Ellie's neck, she turned her head toward the window and saw Chuck and Sarah standing awkwardly apart inside. Ellie smiled a somewhat guilty smile at them as Devin continued his ministrations. Unfortunately for the fake couple inside, the real couple was not going anywhere. Their unspoken strategy to 'not go there' literally and figuratively went out the window.

_5_

_4_

Chuck looked back at Sarah and her at him. She pressed her lips together. _So much for the best-laid plans_, she thought.

_3_

"It was nice knowing ya . . . ," he smirked.

Just as before, she stopped him from completing his statement. She reached up with both hands to his neck. This time he knew she was coming and he was ready as she fell into him. Even though he had advance knowledge of their embrace it was no less of a surprise to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her in. Their lips met as they had done on countless cover situations. She tilted her head up and parted her lips inviting him in. He followed her lead cupping her face with his hands and he softly, slowly, gently, began to kiss her. He felt her sigh as he trailed his hands back to her hair, down the back of her neck and up again to her face. This was a different kind of kiss for this couple—it was tender, delicate even. It was the kind of kiss that old lovers made when they were reacquainted. Where that emotion came from neither of them knew. The sincerity of the moment made her unsteady. He felt it too. It would have been easy for them to change the moment—to make it all infused passionate desperate no-tomorrow kind of kiss—but that's not what happened. It was deeper than that. As they parted slightly, Chuck reached down and held her hands by their sides. He rested his forehead on her hers. As he looked down at her mouth he asked, "What was that?"

She answered honestly, "I don't know." She let go of one of his hands and reached up to wipe off her lipstick which lingered on his face. He softly kissed her finger and her breath caught as she shuttered in response.

She parted from him and he reluctantly let go of her other hand. "I'm going to go fix my . . ." she couldn't think of the words and so she made a gesture to her face. He nodded and watched her as she walked down the hall toward the bathroom. She turned around bashfully and said, "Happy New Year Chuck."

* * *

Just before midnight, John Casey took a short break from his surveillance detail. He knew that Walker was too smart to try anything in the Bartowski living room while he was watching their every move. In the kitchen, Casey grunted. _Just when he felt like he was finally getting somewhere with Bartowski, he didn't even get invited to the party and here Walker shows up and immediately he's the kid that gets picked last again._ Actually, _he didn't get picked at all, _he thought. He was not accustomed to not completing missions—regardless of the job requirements. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He poured himself a fresh scotch, lit a stogie, and then returned to his duties. He took a puff on the cigar, sat back down in his easy chair, and ran back the footage that he had missed. _He was not a voyeur_, he told himself. This was just part of the job.

As the final seconds to the New Year wound down on the taped footage, Casey noticed that there had been a change in the couple's demeanor. He saw them both stare out the window and so he switched feeds to the courtyard. The focused and saw that the two of them were not only being watched by him but also by none other than the party hosts themselves. His demeanor changed from one of irritation to slight pity for his team members. _Can't these two ever catch a break?_ he thought before catching himself.

He recognized that his quips and remarks about them were often deflected with such intensity that there could be no mistake. He knew better than either of them the depth of their feelings for one another. He'd noticed it for better than a year even though he would never let on as much.

Casey knew the rules but he personally didn't care if the two of them got together as long as they were able to successfully complete their missions. In some ways, he recognized that it would make things so much easier on the entire team if the two of them would just get it out of their systems. Of course, it was all against the rules, the rules they all lived by.

He was familiar with the sacrifices he had made and the cost of protecting something greater than himself. Walker also understood this cost. But did Chuck? He had come a long way in the year and a half that he had known him. Not that Casey would ever admit that to him. But sometimes he would see the heroic side of the nerd—like when he took charge of the virus containment at the bioscience conference. _Ick!_ Casey shuddered at the remembrance of Bartowski's uninvited face plant.

He gagged and took his cigar out of his mouth, "That's what Walker wants?"

And sure enough, he saw them on the screen in full view. But that kiss was no cover kiss. He paused. They didn't teach that kiss in seduction class. "Hmmh," the old G-man softened. He smiled and thought of Ilsa.

* * *

A freshened up Sarah Walker stood by the doorway of the Bartowski apartment. Outside, the party was in full swing. _Caught In Your Trap_ by _the Pigeon Detectives_ was playing through the speakers. She noticed Chuck over next to the stereo equipment clearly stuck talking to one of Devin's fraternity 'brawls' (as he liked to call them). He looked over her way with a wide-eyed 'please get me out of here' look. She smiled and playfully shook her head 'no way.' He looked back at her with crinkled brows pleading. She had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing which made him plead even more. But she remained resolute. She knew that they needed some distance after the indescribable moment that they just had.

Of course, due to her refusal, Sarah also became stuck in a conversation that had no end. Several of Ellie's friends bombarded her about the upcoming wedding and all the planning that surrounded it. It was mindless chatter that required only infrequent responses from her as the other ladies carried on about the bouquets, dresses, catering, location, rings, and all the other mind-numbing details. She glanced over at Chuck and he grinned. She turned her head and lifted her brows pleading with him as he had done before. He stood there and laughed. She turned back to the conversation in front of her and guessed that turn about was fair play. But she was wrong. What he was about to do was going to make her infinitely more vulnerable.

Sarah glanced back over at Chuck and saw him pull something out of his pocket. It was his pink iPod; the one that she had discovered at Christmas, _the one that had all the songs about her on it_. What was he about to do? Sarah was doing everything she could to maintain her calm exterior: deep breaths, gritting her teeth, digging her nails into her fists. And it worked. For all intensive purposes, none of the women talking to her had any idea of the trepidation that Ellie's bridesmaid had buried just under the surface.

Chuck scrolled down to a song that he had added just that week: _Ryan Adams' Natural Ghost_. He put the iPod in the stereo docking station and walked over to her. As the song cued, he reached out his hand to Sarah. Her eyes widened and she froze if only for a split second. She appeared to calmly accept his offer to dance without him ever hearing the inaudible voice within her screaming how bad an idea this was. He led her out to the middle of the courtyard where other couples were dancing.

Chuck silently reached down and clasped her left hand in his right between the two of them chest high. She rested her right hand on his chest as his other hand cradled the small of her back. She could feel his heart pounding but she couldn't bring herself to look up at him. She thought if she did, he would be able to see right through her as if she was ghost.

The song began.

_. . . . . . . . . . Well I was waitin' around for somebody to die  
. . . . . . . . . . Nobody did but a part of me died I suppose from all that waiting  
_

Chuck looked down at her. "You know, I didn't know if you were coming back."

_. . . . . . . . . . These things they pass in time but the moments get real and it's hard sometimes  
_

He sighed and thought for a moment about the distance between them and pondered over whether he could accept her as she was. The truth was that even after she killed someone in cold blood, he couldn't help but still be enamored with her.

_. . . . . . . . . . I think of someone that I'd like to be and I hold that in my mind  
_

She let out a deep breath and muttered, "You know this has not been easy for me."

As she finally looked up to him, she felt him relax. Her reassuring eyes calmed him.

_. . . . . . . . . . But there's always tonight, tonight _

She reached up and placed her free arm around his neck and rested her head on his chest. The real normalcy of their embrace warmed him. Their intertwined hands made an unspoken alliance that remained hidden from all of those in attendance. Even though it was only a small gesture, it was enough for that moment.

_. . . . . . . . . . And you, you make me feel like I'm here when I'm not  
. . . . . . . . . . And it, it makes me feel like I'm not here  
. . . . . . . . . . You, you make me feel like I'm not here  
. . . . . . . . . . But I am, I am more than you think I am  
_

As they continued to dance in slow circles, Chuck gently caressed the side of their locked hands with his thumb comforting her. _They could be so much more._

_. . . . . . . . . . Take a picture of your life for a second now freeze it and look at the screen  
. . . . . . . . . . What parts of you were daydreams, illusions, and other things  
. . . . . . . . . . These things they pass in time but the moments are real and it's hard sometimes  
. . . . . . . . . . Keep the faith, keep moving in time to the music rolling in your mind,  
_

The words of the song hit home. She looked at him as if time had stopped but she didn't know what to say. He looked back at her in silence. She knew that something had come between them. She knew that he would tell her when he was ready. But in that moment, what had separated them was the furthest thing from his mind.

_. . . . . . . . . . And when you stay home tonight it can become your home  
_

"Welcome home Sarah," he whispered. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't think straight. So she just tried to remain in the moment.

_. . . . . . . . . . You, you make feel like I'm here when I'm not here  
_

Barely audible he murmured, "You can't leave me."

_. . . . . . . . . . And it, it makes me feel like I'm not here  
_

She wished that they were together anywhere, anywhere else but there.

_. . . . . . . . . . You, you make me feel like I'm not here  
_

He completely forgot about all of the reasons why they couldn't be together. He rested his head on hers. He looked down at their clasped hands.

_. . . . . . . . . . And I am, I am more than you think I am  
. . . . . . . . . . I am, I am more than you think I am_

"Do you remember the night out here when you told me one day I would forget you?"

_. . . . . . . . . . You make me feel like a natural ghost  
_

"I could _never _forget you. . . " he whispered, squeezing her hand more tightly on the word 'never'.

_. . . . . . . . . . You make me feel like a natural ghost _

". . .you'll be with me, always."

_. . . . . . . . . . You make me feel like a natural ghost _

He let go of her hand, reached up under her blonde hair, and stroked the back of her neck, and kissed her forehead softly.

_. . . . . . . . . . You make me feel like a natural ghost_

She opened her eyes and looked into and through him. She saw possibilities, options, even a future with him. It pained her to think of the reality that none of those things could happen. He sensed the intensity of the conflict within her and so he whispered, "It's okay, I know." This time it was his embrace that reassured her. It was real. It was natural. It was . . . normal.

She closed her eyes and took it in. As they turned slowly with the music she peeked through her eyelids momentarily and saw Casey as he watched them through the blinds inside.

"Let's get out of here," she said. Agent Walker had no idea how far she was planning to take this. But she needed to find out. She needed him to trust her, to believe in her, the fact was, she just plain needed him and she didn't normally need anybody. For once he picked up everything she meant with her few spoken words. There would be no spying on them that night. As they broke apart at the end of the song, Chuck took her hand and began to lead her out of the courtyard.

* * *

As they passed Casey's door, the most unwelcome of interruptions stopped them. Major Casey grabbed Agent Walker by the arm.

"I need you . . . both of you . . . love birds," the Major killjoy quipped.

"WHAA . . .?" Chuck protested.

"Get in here NOW Bartowski!" the Major commanded.

"What's the matter Casey?" Agent Walker asked while she stepped inside. She wasn't surprised by Casey's play, for a moment she thought that he was probably just trying to 'hold his ground' and keep the two of them apart.

"It's a matter of National Security," he retorted.

"At 1:00 in the morning? Come on Casey. I know you want to be my new best friend, but this is just wrong," Chuck fumed.

Even Agent Walker wasn't convinced that they weren't being manipulated.

General Beckman appeared on the television screen. "Agent Walker glad to see you've made it back safely."

Chuck plopped down still pissed and muttered under his breath, "Does she sleep in that uniform? It's gotta be after 4am in Washington."

"Shhh! She can hear you," Agent Walker whispered. She could sense and even shared Chuck's disappointment and frustration, not that anyone in the room could tell.

"Major Casey, it turns out that there's more going at the weekly Glendale tournament than we expected," the General responded.

"Wait, you mean at the Happy Heights Senior Center? The place you took me yesterday--the weekly nursing home Scrabble tournament? Really? If I recall correctly, those 'tournaments' were only on Wednesdays at 2 in the afternoon. It's Thursday, wait no, Friday at 1 in morning. Couldn't this have waited, I don't know, maybe for a few hours so I could have gotten a little sleep?" Chuck peeved although it was apparent that sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.

"Mr. Bartowski, I realize it is late but our nation's security is a 24 hour responsibility."

"Yes, General," the nerd sighed and gave up.

"We believe that there may be a link between someone attending these tournaments and the recent scrambling of our satellite links to certain MQ-1 Predators," the General continued.

"So General, there's someone out there who is rendering one of our most successful weapons in the fight against terrorism inoperable?" Major Casey asked.

"That's correct Major, and we believe that the key to finding out what and who is doing this is may be in Glendale. Infiltrate this tournament and find out all that you can, our nation's security depends on it," the General finished.

"Yes, General," the Major responded and the connection was severed. He turned to Sarah all business.

"Agent Walker," he cleared his throat and continued, "would you care to assist in the preparation of a reconnaissance mission at 0800?"

Agent Walker stared back at Major Casey. There was an uneasy silence. She continued to study him and waited from him to say something, to admit what was going on, to come clean, anything. Only nothing came out. Neither operative was prepared to start the discussion that needed to take place. Their uneasy partnership in protecting the world's most valuable intelligence asset was in real danger of dissolving. _Not in front of Chuck_, she thought. _Not now._ She pressed her lips together and let out a breath.

"I'll see you then."

* * *

After their briefing, Agent Walker walked out of the apartment. She was still thinking about her stare-down with Casey. Chuck caught up to her as she was out in the courtyard. The party was still in full effect outside as _The Jesus and Mary Chain's Sometimes Always_ played over the speakers.

"Wait," Chuck pleaded.

"Oh Chuck, I'm sorry about earlier, I just lost my . . . senses for a moment," she responded a little too quickly.

"Yeah, your senses," Chuck grinned.

She knew that he wasn't buying it.

Chuck continued, "Well if it's your senses, don't forget your flowers."

Chuck reached over to the table next to them and handed her the gardenias that he had given her earlier in the evening.

"Thanks Chuck," she smiled.

They walked the short distance to her car in silence. He was so close to finding out if there was something real between the two of them. But that opportunity was long gone. _Blasted mission, Casey, Beckman, intersect_, he thought. Agent Walker was back. Sure, he liked her, but not her walls. He sighed, knowing that he had gotten through to her counterpart earlier that night.

At her car, Agent Walker opened the passenger door of the Porsche and put the flowers in the seat. As she shut the car door, Chuck couldn't miss that the flowers were going with her and he was not. She quickly walked around to the other side of the car and opened the door, but then she paused and looked straight at Chuck.

"You know why I like gardenias don't you?" she asked.

Chuck smiled, _Sarah was back_. He looked back at her; he had no clue but he wasn't going to give up this opportunity.

"They smell great?" he offered.

She half grinned and shook her head no as she got into her Porsche.

He leaned down and she rolled the passenger side window down for a moment and then she smiled carefully and said, "No. You didn't get what I meant."

That was all she was going to give him and he knew it. He stood up as she raised the window and sped off.

As he walked back to his apartment he pondered her words, "What she meant?"

"What did she mean? What _do_ gardenias mean?" he thought to himself.

Like a bullet to his brain, an idea popped swiftly in his head. He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket, tapped on the wiki app and waited for it to load.

"COME ON! This thing is taking forever," he said out loud visibly frustrated. The truth was his iPhone wasn't taking 'forever' but Chuck wanted his answer _now. _He was already to his bed room window. He climbed through the window and re-focused on the screen on his phone. He scrolled through the wiki article but there was nothing.

"ARGH! This thing is useless."

He tossed his phone on the bed and walked over to his computer. He googled flower meanings. In no time there were thousands of sites at his disposal. He clicked on the first one--_iflorist. com._ He clicked on "_g" _and there was . . . her meaning. He rose back in his chair and lost his breath. He felt his chest get tight because he had stopped breathing. He felt like everything had stopped in that moment. He stared back at the screen for what must have been an eternity. The screen read,

........................."_**I love you in secret**"............................_

A huge smile came over his face and he let out a deep breath.

* * *

**........**

**[A/N: I hope you enjoyed my Valentine's present to you! [[wink]]]**

****

[STAY TUNED: How did that crazy guy end up in the desert? Will Team Bartowski's protectors reach a mutual detente? What leaves Chuck and Sarah 'scrabbling'? All of this and more coming up in future chapters of _Chuck v. The Burning Man_!]

****

P.S. Londonwriting the _O.C./Chuck "Dice" _nod was just for you! Poa thanks for your Casey love. BillAtWork thanks for being the Chara shipper that you are.

**[A/N: I****f what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you want a vote on what happens, drop me a line. I'm notorious for putting your great ideas in the story! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!].**

**........**


	7. A Chilly Time For The Bartowskis part1

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader and top-secret reconnaissance gatherer in the Chuck universe!**

**[Special Note: _Chuck v. The Alma Mater_ established through a flash on Chuck's college transcripts that all of his pre-Stanford residences were in the Hartford, CT area. Unfortunately, after this was published the show went against its own established canon in _Chuck v. Best Friend_ and placed our beloved hero in the making in Tarzana, CA in 1992. This inconsistency won't affect the rest of this story. But as a purist, I would be remiss if I didn't mention it.] **

* * *

**Chapter 7 – A Chilly Time For The Bartowskis – part 1**

**January 2, 2009 – Echo Park, CA**

. . . . . . . . . . _Yes, it's true, I'm happy to be stuck with you  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Yes, it's true, I'm happy to be stuck with you  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Because I can see that you're happy to be stuck with me_

Chuck smiled at the ceiling as _Huey Lewis & the News' Stuck with You_ played. He reached over and turned off the alarm. He was wide awake and had been most of the night. Sleep had welcomely eluded him. For once, there had been no nightmares, no endless replays of Sarah shooting Lt. Mauser in his mind. Instead, he'd spent the entire night thinking about the night before, with Sarah.

_Sarah_. Her face filled his mind. It was her job to protect him at all costs, even to protect him from herself. But after last night, he knew that she would fail in that last responsibility. He knew that he would be seriously hurt if she turned away, if she backed away from him now. She'd given him, at last, a message … _the _message he'd been waiting to hear.

He sighed, his smile growing ever wider as he conjured up the image in his head. Above him, he imagined a larger than life computer screen on his ceiling which said,

. . . . . . . . . . _I love you in secret_. . . . . . . . . .

He sat up, his goofy grin unwavering. How could he feel so refreshed? He'd barely slept a wink. She loved him _in secret_. He threw back the covers, stood up, and walked over to his computer. Moving the mouse got the screen to pop back on, the website still scrolled to gardenias, Sarah's favorite flowers—and their real meaning.

. . . . . . . . . . _I love you in secret_. . . . . . . . . .

Chuck sat down at the desk, reclined in his chair, and thought back to the night of their first real date at the Last Dragon Chinese Restaurant. The words on the screen blurred as he lost himself in the remembrance …

_. . . . . . . . . . "What are you saying Chuck?" she longingly asked showing her vulnerability.  
. . . . . . . . . . "What I've always wanted to say Sarah," he confirmed._

They were so close that night, so close to _saying_ what they felt. Past the dancing around their roles and what was or wasn't professional. Past the lines they had drawn on their hearts beyond which they couldn't go. He sighed. How could they get back to that time? How could they get back to that smoldering moment at the restaurant where even momentary anxiety would not stop them from admitting how they felt?

A lot had changed in six months. Together they had saved the world from a violent missile attack, a nasty bio-virus, and even stopped the leakage of super-bomber plans. In the process he had caught glimpses into her past and even met her father.

But the cost of his protection had put her life in danger countless times, though she had never admitted as much to him. He shuddered as he coldly remembered the deep bruises she had unwittingly bared to him at Christmas. They were a testament to how far she was willing to go to eliminate anything and anyone who jeopardized his security.

This commitment included, the memory playing for the thousandth time in his mind, the execution of unarmed men. They _still_ had not talked about it and although he had had a peaceful night for once (he smiled back at the computer screen), the mind-freezing nightmares continued to invade his brain on countless evenings when he was alone.

He sighed, again. Thinking back to her picking at her noodles that night in the restaurant, he remembered that noodles symbolized longevity—it was a bit of trivia he picked up from his long-absent dad. On his parents' anniversary, they used to order Chinese and spend the night at a B&B outside of Hartford where he grew up. Chuck wondered if Sarah and he could even have such traditions in their future. Could they _ever_ openly admit to wanting a future together?

Chuck thought back to Sarah opening her fortune cookie at the restaurant.

. . . . . . . . . . _"So does it say where you're going next, your new mission?"  
_. . . . . . . . . . "_Actually it does."__  
_. . . . . . . . . . "_Really?"__  
_. . . . . . . . . . "_No, not really," she quirked._

He'd have given anything to know what that little slip of paper said. Chuck sat down at the foot of his bed and smiled a mischievous grin. "Well, whatever it did say, it sure would be nice to add 'in bed' at the end of it."

Puzzled for a second he thought back to another man's fortune – from long ago, from the last day he saw his dad. He went over to his desk and ripped open his Velcro wallet. He reached back into the half pocket that was typically useless for anything except for maybe a stick of gum and delicately pulled out the slip of paper.

It had been a long time since he last looked at it. He only allowed himself to think of the events that preceded the decade-old fortune on that certain day each year—it was a coping tool that a therapist had taught him. But his recent promise to Ellie brought it all flooding back into his brain. He looked down at the slip of paper. It read:

. . . . . . . . . . _Right now there's an energy pushing you in a new direction. . . . . . . . . . .  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Lucky Numbers: 10 – 31 – 14 – 7 – 12 – 16. . . . . . . . . .  
_

"Well dad, it sure would have been nice to know what direction that 'energy' took you."

* * *

**July 28, 1996 – Just outside of Hartford, CT**

"I'm going to make pancakes," dad yelled out.

Both the elder and younger Bartowski teens knew what this phrase meant and it had nothing to do with breakfast that morning. It was their parents' anniversary. Although their mom was gone, dad celebrated that day in a similar fashion each year just as he had before she'd left them. That phrase was 'Bartowski' code for 'I'm going out for Chinese and to reminisce at Chester Bulkley House Bed & Breakfast about the love of my life.'

There wasn't a day that went by that Steve Bartowski didn't miss her. But this day was particularly hard. It was their anniversary. He gave a weak smile when the wide pine-board floor creaked as he entered the room at the B&B. He sat his bag down by the fireplace and looked up at the antique map of the lower 48 states that hung over the mantle. A bowl of pears served as a centerpiece on the table by the window. The nightstand next to the bed had a lamp and predictably--a Gideon bible. It was a rustic place that they had found when they first met. Other than the advent of a pay-per-view box above the television, the room hadn't changed much since he had last been there with her.

He sat down at the table and pulled a special memento from his pocket. It was a charm bracelet, made of sterling silver which gleamed as if it was brand new. As he looked down at the bracelet in his hands, he could still envision the way it looked on her wrist. It had been a gift to her on the day their daughter was born. He remembered the moment, when she first saw it - the expression on her face of surprise, then delight. The sound of her voice cooing over it as he slipped it delicately onto her wrist.

He sat there silently for a few moments, luxuriating in the memories of his wife and daughter. Then he gathered himself up, took a deep breath and began to talk to her the way he often did on that day. It didn't matter that she was no longer with him. She was still very much in his splintered heart.

"You'd be so proud of Eleanor," he started, his voice cracking, "she just graduated in the top 5 of her class and this fall she's headed to UCLA of all places."

He stopped. The thought of his daughter leaving was no less painful than the absence of his wife. He looked down at the guardian angel charm on the bracelet.

"She looks so much like you. She's growing into a fine woman, so smart, beautiful and… that strong will of hers really comes in handy when she has to look out for her brother."

He looked back down at the bracelet and focused on the heart charm with sad haggard eyes.

"Chuck's a real chip off the 'Bartowski' block. He's got a bigger heart than he knows what to do with."

"He's still in the band, he plays the flute. Yeah, I know, that 'doesn't play well with the ladies', he tells me, but I just didn't want him to get too 'girl crazy' with that big heart of his. He's just too high strung for that."

Even in his sadness, a grin appeared on his face thinking about his son.

"He's a helluva smart boy, you should'a seen him at the Science Olympiad the other day. He won the 'Junkyard Challenge' without even needing a roll of duct tape."

"My boy!" Steve laughed and smiled as he finger-counted, animatedly, his son's steps to victory.

"First, he used his jumper cables, a generator, and two half-dollars to make an arc welder to pry open the rusted shut hood. Second, he used a bicycle tire's inner tube to serve as a timing belt. Then he pulled the ball-point pen from behind his ear and used it to repair the fuel line. Next, he used his left-over can of grape soda from lunch to wash off the corrosion on the battery."

He smirked, remembering the putrid smell of the warm, bubbling, purple lava dripping off the battery.

"After that, he fixed a hole in the radiator with a stick of gum from his wallet and used the foil to secure the connection between the battery and the jumper cables to charge the battery. When all was said and done, he had that old jalopy ready to go. And for a final step, he hot-wired the whole contraption with a paper clip that was attached to the contest rules." He finished, ticking off the final step with his pinkie.

"It was a thing of beauty. I wish you could'a been there. Those seven years of MacGyver finally paid off." He smiled at the television thinking back to a better time when he and his son spent Mondays watching television together – and the rest of the week in the garage trying to make some of the 'MacGyver-isms' a reality.

Steve's smile slowly faded as he looked back down at the bracelet. He set it down slowly on the table.

"They've both become fine kids in spite of me."

He continued to think about his wife and the dilemma that he now faced.

"Well, I got our favorite—Peking Duck with noodles. He looked over at the television. You mind if we watch a movie while we eat our Chinese?" Hearing no complaints, he walked over to the television and absent-mindedly flipped through the PPV offerings-- settling on _Mission Impossible. _It was really on for noise. As he ate the duck alone he thought about the fidelity that the meal symbolized. Even after all the time that had passed, he was utterly devoted to her so much so that he often neglected his children.

And now it was time for a very hard decision--a decision that he knew he may regret for a long, long time.

* * *

**January 2, 2009, 0700 – Burbank, CA**

Casey knew that he had an important decision to make. Would he come clean to Walker? He arrived at the castle base early. He wanted to get a jump on planning their next reconnaissance mission. As he started to gather building layouts of the Happy Heights Senior Center and other details, he reminded himself that he also needed to get his head straight before his partner arrived. _Partner. _He groaned_._ He was completely disgusted with his predicament. But he caught himself before he went too far down that road.

"'Lady' feelings." he gruffed.

It wasn't the first time that he had been ordered to do something by a superior that went against his own moral compass. He tried to remember that it was the choice he had made when he decided to protect something greater than himself. Still, he couldn't help but think that General Beckman's attempt to cut the CIA out of this operation was anything but for the greater good.

Perhaps it was his military background that was working against him this time. Major Casey knew of at least two of 'The 7 Army Core Values' which he had not followed-- Loyalty and Respect. It wasn't that he was unprepared to dutifully follow through with his orders – it was just that those same orders didn't seem to make sense sometimes. They were supposed to be working together as a unit and here he was trying to undermine that unity. Again, he stopped himself. He knew that this kind of mutinous thinking would have gotten him thrown into an Army stockade decades ago. If he verbalized his thoughts now, the NSA would likely banish him to a desk job in some Podunk town, or strip him of his pension and maybe even boot him out of the agency entirely. Casey couldn't decide which was worse.

There was no point thinking about that now. Agent Walker already knew. The question of the moment was: What on-going impact would General Beckman's orders have on the future of their team?

As he rolled out some of the building schematics, a familiar uniformed individual appeared on the screen. _Speak of the devil_, Casey thought. He saw her out of the corner of his eye and instinctively turned to face the superior officer just as he had been programmed to do long ago. But he didn't immediately snap to attention this time. "Morning General."

"Major Casey, when is Agent Walker scheduled to arrive?" Even from 3000 miles away, the General could sense that the Major was not his usual self.

"0800 General, but she will probably arrive early given the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"General, she knows about my orders. I don't know how she figured it out but I am certain of it."

"Major, you mean to tell me that you couldn't keep a simple mission like this from Agent Walker?

"General, I haven't talked to Agent Walker with the exception of the few words which were said during our briefing with you last night. But, there can be no mistake--she knows."

Beckman frowned.

"Well, that's going to make things considerably more difficult," she curtly responded.

Major Casey took in a deep breath. "Permission to speak freely General."

The General was taken aback for a moment. She had not seen Major Casey take a stance like this, _ever._ She nodded her head.

"General, in my estimation, I have been successful in securing the Intersect's allegiance. But, Bartowski also has a strong bond with Agent Walker." The Major was careful not to allude to his own tie with the Agent. He knew that the General would be even less interested in his _personal _feelings than he was himself.

"While Agent Walker was gone on the Barnes interrogation, Bartowski had no flashes of any kind. He was on edge all week ma'am, with the exception of the time he talked with Agent Walker on the phone when she seemed to calm him."

He continued, "Bartowski's family and friends have a growing emotional attachment to Agent Walker. If we are going to continue to have the Intersect out in the field at this point, I believe that we _need_ Agent Walker to secure his cover."

"You should also know General, that over the past few months in particular, I believe that we have worked much better together as a unit." He was careful not to use the word 'team'.

There, it was done. He couldn't take it back now, even if he wanted to. He was unsure as to how his 'free speech' would be received but he had felt compelled to say something. As he stood there waiting at attention, he wondered what Walker would have thought if she had overheard this conversation. Before he could stop it, a small grunt escaped his throat and he quickly turned it into a muffled cough. He hoped the General hadn't caught it.

It was now the General's turn to respond.

"I see, Major Casey. And I will take your _concerns_ under advisement. At this time, we will table any efforts to reassign Agent Walker and she will remain a part of this detail."

"Know though, I have grave concerns about the safety of the Intersect especially after Fulcrum has _once again_ infiltrated the BuyMore. I am seriously thinking about placing Mr. Bartowski in a secure facility the next time the two of you can't manage his protection."

Those last words shot through the screen in front of Major Casey and rang in his ears. He clearly understood her meaning.

"We'll do this again at 0800 when Agent Walker arrives," the General continued.

"One more thing Major, you brought up several interesting points . . . don't get in the habit of it."

The screen went blank. Major Casey gave a satisfied half smirk and let out a breath through his nostrils. The second time he had confronted a superior was just as satisfying as the first. Maybe this time would yield different results.

* * *

**July 28, 1996 – Just outside of Hartford, CT**

While he finished up his Chinese food in the B&B, Steve thought back to a conversation that he had had earlier that morning with his daughter.

Ellie Bartowski was reading the morning edition of _The Hartford Courant_. "Isn't this awful dad? Who would bomb the Olympics?" He looked up and saw the headline she pointed to:

_. . . . . . . . . . Olympic Tragedy, But Games Go On. . . . . . . . . . ._

"Yeah Eleanor, there are always people out there that just seek to tear down everything that is good."

"But dad, that's why it's up to us to not let that happen," she responded well-beyond her 18 years.

He smiled. "You are so much like your mother; I'm going to miss you when you're gone."

"Oh dad, I'm just going to college," she said as she put down the paper and smiled at him. She was so full of promise like any high achiever of that age.

"Yeah . . . I know," he said weakly.

Ellie knew that today was the day and that her dad needed a little extra care—it was her parents' anniversary. She scooted her chair back, and moved over to give her father a reassuring hug. He smiled up at her and hugged her back but when he did something else caught the corner of his eye.

As he glanced at the bottom right corner of the newspaper on the table, he felt sick. _They were going public and he wouldn't be able to do anything to stop them now._ As the acid began to eat away at the lining of his stomach he looked again at the newspaper headline which read:

_. . . . . . . . . . Roark Industries Announces Ground-Breaking Image Technology. . . . . . . . . _

He didn't need to read the article. He was responsible for it. Of course, when he developed the technology, he thought that it was going to be used as simply a vast improvement in electronic data storage – a way to encode any type of document as an incredibly compact image, eliminating the need for OCR scanning or massive magnetic storage facilities.

The article on the table was completely silent as to the real purpose for the 'Omaha Project' as his boss Ted called it. When Steve initially accepted the assignment with Roark Industries, Ted Roark wasn't exactly forthcoming in his plans for developing this image technology. It was only later that Steve discovered that he had become knee-deep in Roark's covert operations and that there was no escape for him or his family. _Big Brother Ted was always watching._

The inner-dread within Steve started to manifest itself on his face. Of course, his daughter had no idea and she just attributed his frown to "dad being dad" on his anniversary.

Chuck stumbled into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He was not a morning person.

"Glad you could join us," Ellie said as she walked by her brother and muffled up his hair.

"Hey! Don't do that, you're gonna mess up . . ." Chuck started to protest but was cut off by his kidding sister.

"You're just going to band practice," she giggled, cutting him off.

"Yeah, well try not to remind me. You know I'm the _only guy in the whole band_ that plays the flute," Chuck said rather pathetically.

Steve looked up at his bantering teens and said matter-of-factly, "Well, your mother loved it."

"Well, she's not here now is she?" Chuck said with a slight disdain.

"Chuck!" Ellie rifled back with a wide-eyed look. _Not today_.

With his sister's tone and expression, Chuck realized that he had gone too far. He looked down at the paper in front of him and saw the news about his dad's company.

"Hey, what's this dad? It's about Roark?" Chuck pointed to the newspaper and read aloud.

"Roark Industries announces the development of its new image encoding technology. Founder and C.E.O. Ted Roark stated, 'There's an old saying that pictures say a thousand words. We, at Roark Industries, have made that statement a reality! Our new technology will help businesses eliminate paper files altogether. We anticipate massive cost savings to corporations and even the government. We have been working on this process for years and now it's become a reality!'"

"That's fantastic dad! You did this!"

His son's youthful praise was the furthest thing from his mind. Steve felt as though he was going to faint.

Steve used to analogize his work to 'bullets.' Bullets by themselves were relatively harmless. It was only when they were put in a gun and the trigger was pulled that they became dangerous. So what if he only developed the 'bullets'? The problem was that Roark's hired 'gun'—Cliff Siljak—had now put those 'bullets' to deadly use.

Cliff had been given free reign to put the images that Steve helped develop into some poor unsuspecting soul's brain. Cliff had worked for years on the Omaha Project as the CIA's top brain researcher. When Ted Roark brought Cliff into the fold Steve knew that he was in over his head. Cliff was nothing short of a Josef Mengele. His experiments were more torture than science. Just the day before, Steve had watched one of those experiments turn a young volunteer's mind into mincemeat. And then when he protested, Ted threatened him and his family. Ted's exact words were "_If you expose what we are doing here, I'll use your son as our next test subject." _

"Ted Roark's a genius! It's so great that you work for him," Chuck said naively.

"Look son, don't believe everything you read or see . . ." Steve responded and looked up at the light fixture in the ceiling. _Big brother Ted was surely watching._

". . . and one day you'll thank me for it," Steve finished.

Chuck crinkled his eyebrows and looked back at him strangely.

Steve looked back at his son sadly. He felt as though it was going to be the last time he'd ever see his face. He'd never get to see him grow up to be a man. He'd never get to see him fall madly in love. He'd never get to see him fulfill all of his life's destinies. But Steve knew that this way, at least, his son would get to grow old.

"So have fun at band practice, I'm gonna . . ." he paused and almost broke down, ". . . I'm gonna go get pancakes."

As Steve made his way out the door, he noticed a recent picture of his kids from Ellie's high school graduation sitting on the end table by the door. He picked up the frame and studied it; it was the one thing that left the house with him that day.

From somewhere in the deep recesses of space, Ted Roark was indeed following Steve Bartowski's every move.

* * *

**January 2, 2009, 0730 – Burbank, CA**

From the castle's surveillance cameras he watched her every move. He watched her as she swiftly unlocked the door to the Orange Orange, glided through it, re-locked the door and moved to the back freezer area. He shut off the system quickly as her eye scan registered and gave her access to the lower recesses of the base.

Agent Walker had planned to get to the castle base before Major Casey arrived to carefully plan out her method of interrogation. As the door opened and she made her way down the stairs she steeled her resolve. One way or the other, she was going to get to the bottom of what was going on. She had a pretty good idea that it had to do with the CIA getting completely cut out of the Intersect mission. Of all the ironies! The CIA worked on this project for years and when it finally worked, the NSA wanted to come in and take over the entire operation. The truth was that she really didn't care about any of that. All she really cared about - deep down - was Chuck. And if the only way she could ensure his safety was through her continued role as a protector of the Intersect, she was going to do whatever it took to make it happen.

She walked over to the monitor screens and detected warmth from them. They had already been in use that morning. Before she could investigate further she heard a familiar voice.

"Morning Agent Walker, you're early," Major Casey announced.

"Nice to see you too, Casey," she answered dismissively. She looked back at the monitors. The heat from the screens told her that the Major had already had at least one briefing that morning.

The Major picked up on her glance. _She was good._

She turned away from the displays and planted her hands on the table in front of her staring straight at the man standing on the other end of the table. "Look Casey, I've got one question for you. Whose idea was it to have that briefing _last night_?"

Of all the ways that he thought she would begin this conversation, that question was not one of them. _But then again, that really was the question, wasn't it?_ Was the NSA trying to break them apart? Not the Intersect and the CIA. Not even the Intersect and Agent Walker. He knew what she meant even better than she did. She was really asking, 'at what length were they going to go to keep _Chuck and Sarah_ apart?'

He pressed his lips firmly together and considered his response. He made his decision, he would 'own up' to her.

"Agent Walker, I was following orders. I gave my report earlier that night. During my report, I disclosed that you had returned. I was told to ensure that you did not leave with the Intersect. . . . _Plus. . . _," he paused and continued more slowly, ". . . I personally wasn't sure if the two of you were in your right heads that night." He looked at her slightly tilting his head downward and raised his brows. He remembered _that kiss._

She did too. She looked back at him and tried a little too hard to dismiss his expression and the last sentence, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He tilted his head slightly to the side. "Are we going to do this _again_? Look, Juliet, your little forbidden Romeo has had no flashes of any kind since Christmas Eve. He's been on edge all week, _except_ for the time he talked with you on the phone, and even worse – he's been listening to freakin' Coldplay. Coldplay, Walker. My ears just can't take it anymore."

Before she could stop herself, Sarah let a chuckle escape. As she tried to maintain her composure, the Major continued.

"You should have seen him with that CPR doll before you called—it was just plain sad. I did everything I could within myself to hold back the quips—but I mean he was just 'puckered' out."

"Wait, you told Beckman about _that_?" she asked.

The Major looked at her wide-eyed, "Well, _obviously_ not that part."

She smiled nondescriptly.

"I _did _report that Bartowski's family and friends have a strong emotional attachment to you. That he performs better when you're around. That it was my belief that we work better as a unit."

"You told her all of that?" she asked, her inner-resolve was softening.

He nodded once and maintained eye contact with his partner.

Sarah knew what it meant for Casey to have told her what he just did. Major Casey was a career soldier, yet he had basically just divulged to her the plan that had been laid out to replace her. He had more than confirmed that General Beckman and the NSA were at the forefront of the scheme. And she knew that Casey had gone along with it because he had orders. _That's what soldiers did, they followed orders_.

He looked determined not to break eye contact first. She held his stare, drawing from her training to keep her face expressionless, her eyes impassive.

Still, she thought, he had obviously stuck his neck out for her. He didn't need to tell the General that Chuck's family and friends were close to her, that Chuck worked better with her in the picture, or that they all worked well together as a team. It wasn't a trivial olive branch to be sure. She pondered the right move here. After several seconds of deliberation, she made the decision: If there _were_ any allegiances that had been formed there that day, they were between Chuck and Sarah _and Casey._ She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"So you missed me?" she joked. The tension in the room fell immediately.

"Walker, I miss you like I miss working a day at that ridiculous electronics store."

* * *

**January 2, 2009, 0930 – Burbank, CA**

Some thirty feet above the reacquainted federal agents another reunion was about to take place at 'the ridiculous electronics store.' A long absent nerd herder fumbled through the doors of Buy More. In the distance wafting from the audio installation bay _Peaches & Herb's_ song _Reunited_ was playing. All of the green shirts looked up—their mentor, the one they all wanted to be like--no scratch that (they all wanted to be like Chuck)--_the one that they all were like_, had returned. They all made their way to meet their formerly missing comrade-in-arms.

From behind the nerd herd desk Lester was turned away from the spectacle. He was on the phone trying to get another appointment with his chiropractor even though he had already been released to work full duty and in spite of the fact that she had taken out a restraining order on him. Lester sensed the commotion and turned. He dropped his phone when he saw who it was: His long lost pal! The Lloyd to his Harry! The Venkman to his Spengler! The Flounder to his Pinto! The Napoleon to his Pedro!

They locked eyes. A big grin came over Jeff's face while a shy smile escaped from the smaller half-Indian half-Jewish guy from behind the nerd herd desk. As Jeff watched, Lester, lit by ethereal luminescence, spun around and over the nerd herd desk. With a hop, skip, and jump which could have been compared in some circles to the 'Julie Andrews Sound of Music move,' Lester arrived face-to-face with his best buddy. In truth, Lester had just walked over, but to Jeff (who was still hallucinating from the drug cocktail that the CIA interrogators had given him), it was pure magic.

"Where you been?" Lester asked.

"Fighting the SCUM of the universe," Jeff smiled.

"Ahhhh, a little Dungeons & Dragons, a D&D tourney, my friend?" Lester asked.

Jeff smiled. He didn't see the need to correct his friend. He was just too happy to see the pal that added the 'ster' to 'Jeff-ster'. Besides, the world was safe, for now, and he was a hero. He saved his mom, Lester, BuyMoria, and even Roscoe from the aliens. All was right with Jeff's world, as much as it ever was anyway.

"Benny's tonight?" Lester asked as he raised his palm for a high-five.

"On!" Jeff responded with an awkward fist instead of meeting the five.

There was nothing like having his wingman back for a deep fried sampler and the low-hanging fruit that tended to frequent the Bennigans on two-for-one night. _It was good to be back_.

In his office, Big Mike was busy completing a voluntary resignation form. He looked down at the file in front of him and said, "After 20 years, Mr. Barnes, it's a shame to see you go."

The sound of voices out on the sales floor broke his short elegy. He looked up from his desk to see what all the commotion was about and spied a familiar face. Well, well… the prodigal drunk had returned. He smiled down at the paperwork—he hated paperwork. He stood up and ripped the form in two.

From inside his office Big Mike shouted, "Jeff!"

Everyone in the store turned. Big Mike walked out of his office and over to the crowd.

"My boy Jeff," he remarked, with a wide, self-satisfied smile.

"Hey Big Mike, you got any doughnuts?" Jeff smiled.

"Get over here, I got a chocolate sprinkled one just for you," Big Mike said as he opened his own personal 'manager's' box of doughnuts for Jeff. The assembled crowd gasped with astonishment.

"So many tasty options . . ." Jeff recited by rote, looking into the box of pastries while slightly freaked out by Big Mike's uncharacteristic generosity.

"Just pick one . . . and where you been!?" the store manager demanded.

Jeff grabbed a pastry and was about to tell Big Mike about his adventure saving the world but predictably he was cut off by his impatient boss.

"Truth is . . . I don't care, you just saved me a boat-load of paperwork," the big man bellowed.

The manager looked at the staff surrounding them, "Now get back to work people!"

* * *

**[What does Steve do to protect his kids? What's with this Roark guy anyway? How does Chuck end up in California? All of this and more in the next installment of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man.**_**]**

**STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 8 **–**A Chilly Time For The Bartowskis **– **part 2**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! I'm notorious for putting your suggestions in the story. If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter! And for all of you who got the 'Job' scoop--don't worry it's coming, even sooner than you think.]**

**[A/N: Poa—I hope you enjoyed the MacGyver-ism, it was just for you!].**


	8. A Chilly Time For The Bartowskis part2

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader and top-secret reconnaissance gatherer in the Chuck universe!**

**[****Special Note****: **_**Chuck v. The Alma Mater**_** established through a flash on Chuck's college transcripts that all of his pre-Stanford residences were in the Hartford, CT area. Unfortunately, the show recently went against its own established canon in **_**Chuck v. Best Friend**_** and placed our beloved hero in the making in Tarzana, CA in 1992. This inconsistency won't affect the rest of this story. But as a purist, I would be remiss if I didn't mention it.] **

* * *

**Chapter 8 — A Chilly Time For The Bartowskis – part 2**

**July 28, 1996 – Just outside of Hartford, CT**

"What can I do to save them now? I'm all they have left." Steve lamented as he set aside his chopsticks and last bit of Chinese food. He felt his chest tighten as he looked over at the pears in the bowl on the table. He remembered something his wife had told him long ago about Chinese culture. _Never share a pear with someone you love, because pears symbolize separation_. Steve already felt so alone; separated from everything that he knew and loved.

He had no one to talk to about the horrors he had seen. The evil that he had unwittingly helped create. He couldn't go public. He couldn't talk to his kids. He couldn't tell anyone. Ted Roark's bone-chilling words stung his ears, "_If you expose what we are doing here, I'll use your son as our next test subject."_

Steve flashed back to that poor, unsuspecting volunteer's face. The boy's wild horror-filled stare haunted him. Unbidden, a terrible new thought came to him, which stilled the rhythmic pounding in his chest and turned his blood to ice – _That boy could have been Chuck!_

Instead of grabbing at his heart, Steve's hands pressed firmly against his eyes in a vain attempt to rid himself of the terrifying image. He gasped and let out a panic-infused breath.

As he moved his hands away from his eyes, they caught a sparkle – his wife's charm bracelet, still sitting on the table in front of him. As he let his eyes roam over it, finding each charm and remembering their respective meanings, his heart relented and began to pump again, erratically at first but then restoring itself to a methodic rhythm. He reminded himself to breathe. Just breathe.

Steve had no hope in shutting down Roark or in stopping that mind butcher, Cliff Siljak. He was complicit to be sure, but Steve knew that he could no longer be a part of something so cold, something that darkened his soul. He changed his focus to the pears on the table. There was no escape for him or his family as long as he stayed; his kids would always be in danger. Roark would never let him just walk away, he knew too much. But what if he just disappeared? That might give his kids a chance.

"But where can I go?" the torn man grieved. He glanced over to the fireplace and the map on top of the mantle. He needed somewhere that was remote, completely off-the-grid. But where? His mind was blank. He had no plan, no ideas, nothing. He turned and reached into the plastic take-out bag and pulled out the final part of his dinner—a fortune cookie.

"God, I could really use your help here," he said off-handedly as he broke open the cookie. He pulled the paper slip out, looked down at it, and read the message:

. . . . . . . . . . _Right now there's an energy pushing you in a new direction. . . . . . . . . . .  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Lucky Numbers: 10 – 31 – 14 – 7 – 12 – 16. . . . . . . . . ._

_  
__Humph_, he groaned_._ _Some new direction_. _Some luck._ Steve already knew that he was in an impossible spot. Any direction would be better than the immorality he faced remaining stagnant.

He glanced over to the nightstand and saw a book that seemed to be in every hotel room but, in his experience, was rarely opened. He walked over to the other side of the bed, picked up the Gideon bible, and opened it. Should he say a prayer? Would that get him out of this jam? Would it protect his kids? Would it bring his wife back? In his despondence, he abjectly answered his own questions, "No." Steve had no hope of being redeemed through that book.

Again, the hopelessness of his circumstances took over. His vision blurred as his eyes began to water. He could not see through the liquid that clouded his vision. But even with clear eyes, Steve could not have seen though the deep gray cloud of despair that surrounded him. He openly, desperately sobbed at his situation. How could he save his kids from the unspeakable evil that he had seen committed on test subjects earlier that week? Evil that he had a hand in creating? It didn't matter that he had meant it for good. The twisted men that he worked for had clearly sold their souls to the devil and they planned to take him along with them.

But in his moment of despair, Steve envisioned his kids--Ellie and Chuck. Despite all of his neglect through the years, they both clung to an infectious brand of idealism; they never gave up no matter the odds. He clung to that vision as he slowly and deliberately tried to calm himself down. Again, he breathed deeply as he concentrated on inhaling and exhaling. It was then that he realized he still had 'fortune' on his side.

Steve wiped the tears from both eyes with the back of his hand, blinked a few times and re-focused on the fortune:

_. . . . . . . . . . Right now there's an energy pushing you in a new direction. . . . . . . . . . ._

Right now? What energy? A new direction? What direction? He let out a deep sigh. It sure wasn't much to go on and so he continued to read:

_. . . . . . . . . . Lucky Numbers: 10 – 31 – 14 – 7 – 12 – 16 . . . . . . . . . ._

Lucky numbers? What kind of numbers? He looked back down at the bible that he had left on the bed. Through the haze of his despair, a moment of pure clarity pierced through his conscious mind. Steve remembered something from the movie—_Mission Impossible_—which had just finished playing on the television. In the movie 'job 315' was actually code for a bible verse--'Job 3:15.' _Could he be this lucky? Could it be this simple?_ Only he wasn't thinking about a job or the book of Job. There was another book within the 'good book' which might turn his luck—Numbers. He looked at the first two lucky numbers on his fortune: 10 and 31.

He quickly rifled through the book and turned to Numbers 10:31 and read:

_. . . . . . . . . . for you know where we should camp in the wilderness, and you will serve as eyes for us. . . . . . . . . . ._

You know where we should camp. Camp in the wilderness. You will serve as our eyes. Could he serve as his kids' protectors by camping in the wilderness—by living in the desert? It seemed too coincidental.

He wondered about the next two numbers in his fortune--14 and 7. Steve turned to Numbers 14:7 and read:

_. . . . . . . . . . The land which we passed through to spy it out, is an exceedingly good land. . . . . . . . . . ._

Spy out the land. Was the desert a good land? Was it a good place to keep watch over his kids from afar? _Hmmm_.

He decided to look at fortune's final pair of numbers—12 and 16. Steve flipped a couple pages backward to Numbers 12:16 and read:

_. . . . . . . . . . the people . . . camped in the wilderness of Paran. . . . . . . . . . ._

Camp in the wilderness? The wilderness of Paran? He started to put it all together. Could he protect his kids by watching over them from afar in the desert? Could this work?

Steve climbed off the bed and went over to the map above the mantle. As he studied the map he focused on the wilderness—the desert of the American West. In a matter of moments, he found exactly what he was looking for—Parran, Nevada. It was barely a dot on the map due east of Reno and north of Fallon. It was a barren town, a ghost of a place. It was the perfect place to get lost. And only if necessary…_ found._

Fortune had intervened and provided Steve and his family a way out. Steve now had a plan and it was time to put that plan into motion. He moved swiftly, as he knew he must or he might lose his nerve. He had to disappear - his kid's future _depended_ on it.

He put the bible on the nightstand and purposefully set the fortune on top of it. He straightened the bed and left the television on. He walked over to the table, grabbed the pears and stuffed them in his pockets. And finally, he set his wife's charm bracelet down on the table. He looked at it for what seemed an eternity, trying as best he could to imprint the image permanently into his mind. He touched it with his fingers and thought of her and them. A familiar pain began behind his eyes – he knew the tears would come soon.

He knew what this decision meant. It was the end of yet another family ritual. One that had never brought him joy but had, at least, let him maintain the illusion that she was still in his life for one day out of the year. It helped him deal with his prodigious guilt. But after he did this there would be no more "pancakes"; no more feigned deceptions. All that would remain would be the gradual realization that he'd left them, as she had done before him. Left without a word. Without ever saying goodbye.

He wiped a tear from one eye, sniffled, and then backed slowly away from the table – never taking his eyes off the bracelet.

Steve knew the cost of his actions. He knew the pain he was about to put his kids through. But he also knew that in that moment it was safer for all of them if he just disappeared.

He left without a word.

* * *

**July 29, 1996 – Just outside of Hartford, CT**

Chuck Bartowski hadn't spoken a word all day. He was thinking about his missing father. That afternoon, he took the bus over to Wethersfield—a town just outside of Hartford. As he walked the remaining blocks to the Chester Bulkley House Bed & Breakfast, he wondered why his dad hadn't come home that morning. His dad sure had been acting strange—even for him. Chuck had previously chalked-up his dad's behavior to his normal anniversary antics, but the truth was Chuck could sense something else was going on. He just didn't know what.

When he arrived at the B&B, Chuck stopped at the manager's desk. Although he confirmed that his dad did pay for the room, there was an outstanding bill for a pay-per-view showing of _Mission Impossible_. Chuck reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He ripped open the Velcro and withdrew a couple of bills to pay for the movie. In exchange, the manager gave him a receipt and also granted him access to the room.

As Chuck entered the vacant room, he immediately noticed that the television was on. He saw the remains of his dad's Chinese food in the trash. As Chuck walked around to the other side of the undisturbed bed, he eyed a fortune cookie saying sitting on top of a bible on the nightstand. He picked up the slip of paper and read it aloud:

. . . . . . . . . . _Right now there's an energy pushing you in a new direction. . . . . . . . . . .  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Lucky Numbers: 10 – 31 – 14 – 7 – 12 – 16. . . . . . . . . ._

Some fortune, he thought. He became distracted for a moment at the television as the nightly news blared.

_. . . . . . . . . . Up next your Connecticut Classic Lotto numbers. Get ready!. . . . . . . . . . ._

Chuck gave a goofy look to the manager who was standing by the door. He showed him the fortune, and said, "Maybe we'll get lucky." They both watched the slip of paper as the numbers appeared on the television screen.

_ . . . . . . . . . The numbers for tonight's million dollar lotto are: . . . . . . . . . .  
. . . . . . . . . . 4 – 18 – 15 – 16 – 23 – 42 . . . . . . . . . ._

"Good thing you and your dad didn't bet on those numbers because you would've 'lost,'" the manager remarked as he pointed to the unlucky fortune in Chuck's hand.

"Yeah, as superstitious as my dad is, he probably would've thought this meant something," Chuck sighed.

Chuck walked over to the table by the window. His mom's charm bracelet was sitting there. He knew how much the bracelet meant to his father. He picked it up. _That's peculiar. Why did he leave that there?_

As he continued to look around the room, a sense of dread began to creep up from his stomach and into his throat. He swallowed hard. _Had dad been kidnapped or abducted? _He didn't really know.

Perplexed, he turned back to the table and the charm bracelet. _Why did he leave that there, specifically? _Perhaps, he wanted me to pay attention to something on this table. He noticed the empty bowl on the table.

"Mister, was there anything in this bowl before?"

"Why yes, we put some summer pears in there," the manager responded a bit surprised at the teen's intuition.

"I wonder why he took those. . ." Chuck asked pointing to the bowl and then re-focused holding up the charm bracelet, ". . . and left this here."

"Who knows? Your dad was always a little . . . eccentric," the manager said.

"Yeah. . . I know," Chuck said weakly.

For all of his eccentricities though, Chuck's dad had taught him one important thing—pay attention to the details. Chuck grabbed the fortune cookie saying and slid it in his wallet where he usually put a stick of gum. He picked up the charm bracelet and stuck it in his jeans pocket. He made a mental note of everything in the room: the unused bed, the television, the map above the mantle, and especially the missing pears.

His dad's disappearance was a riddle to be sure—one that Chuck needed to figure out. After all, his dad's life might be on the line. The thing that puzzled him the most was the pears. He sensed that this detail must be important. What, if anything, was his dad trying to tell him?

He remembered his dad saying once that all Chinese food meant something. On his way back home, Chuck stopped by the local library. With the assistance of a librarian, he found a book about Chinese cuisine which gave him the meaning of the missing pears. As it turned out, pears symbolized separation. While Chuck didn't understand why his dad was gone, that small absent gesture was enough to reassure him that his dad was not kidnapped or worse, dead.

However, the relief Chuck felt knowing that his dad was alive was momentary. He closed the book slowly as a chill swept over him. As he left the library and made the journey home the lonely teen couldn't help but shiver even in the hot July sun. His mom was gone. His sister was leaving. And now that same cold chill crept into his heart. He knew that his dad had simply left him without a word. He didn't tell him where he was going. He didn't tell him if he would return. He just left—left him alone.

* * *

**July 29, 1996 – Atlanta, GA**

John Casey exuded a cool calm exterior in the summer heat of Atlanta. He was still unaccustomed to being out of uniform. However, he knew that his new job with the National Security Agency was undoubtedly a big step to help protect the greater good on a larger scale. He had previously seen significant action in Panama, Somalia, and Iraq. It was his attachment to Military Intelligence within the 2nd Stryker Cavalry Regiment while he was in Iraq that led to his current job. And now he had just completed several years of intensive training with the agency's top instructor--Ty Bennett. After years of using his inner-rage to accomplish purely military goals, Sensei Bennett had helped John learn to find and tap into his calm-center which was particularly helpful in the stress-induced situation in that conference room.

The NSA was not typically involved in investigations such as this one, but due to the international event that was the Olympics, the Executive Branch had ordered practically every agency which had any possible tie to that location to be involved, including law enforcement, military, and every intelligence organization in existence. The United States government was determined that Atlanta would not become another Munich.

The FBI was in charge, which meant that the black-suited G-men did not want any other of the various members of the federal 'alphabet gang' there. The FBI had already made it clear that they had their hands full with the state investigators and local police and that the rest of them were simply not welcome there. And the truth was, none of these agencies played well with the others.

As the scant details of the Centennial Park bombing were placed on various bulletin boards in front of them, each agency representative looked at the information from a unique point of view. There was a picture of a green knapsack under a bench at the park. There were hundreds of witness accounts. There were even photographs of the aftermath debris.

"What else do we know people?" FBI lead investigator Martin Brody puffed, exuding self-importance.

An overeager uniformed brown-shirt with a brown-colored Stetson in front of him piped up, "Well, my people tell me that the bench was not properly secured in violation of 36 C.F.R. 2.3(d)(5)?"

"Who are you with?" the G-man huffed as he looked down at the Smokey-the-Bear hat in front of the pipsqueak.

"I'm from the NPS . . . _sir,"_ he responded weakly.

"Well, I'm a fisherman and I know the regs by heart. SO DON'T COME IN HERE," he paused as he attempted to calm himself down, "and try to pass off a prohibition on dynamiting fish as a park regulation about benches." Agent Brody thought that this investigation was already bordering on the ridiculous. He already _knew_ who was responsible.

"Besides, this isn't a national park, it's not even on the historic register, and who let you in here anyway? Can somebody tell me . . . WHY THE HELL THE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE IS INVOLVED IN MY INVESTIGATION?" the agency hothead blew his top.

Major Casey grunted with a smile. He liked this guy.

"GET OUT OF HERE DUDLEY DO-RIGHT AND GO BACK TO YELLOWSTONE, JELLYSTONE, OR WHEREVER IT IS THAT YOU AND YOGI THE BEAR SHARE YOUR PICNIC BASKETS!"

Agent Brody stopped, placed his hands on the table in front of him, and attempted to re-attain his calm-center. Major Casey looked at him in interest. Perhaps the goateed FBI agent could benefit from study under Sensei Bennett.

Much calmer, the Agent continued, "As for the rest of you, I don't care what the President says, unless you are a member of law enforcement or intelligence, take a hike."

With that news, representatives from the FDA, TVA, USGS, BLM, DOT, NOAA, EEOC, FERC, CDC, HUD, NLRB, FAA, NASA, and NEA knew that their time was up and one-by-one they filed out of the room.

Even though the last thing he needed was caffeine, Agent Brody went over to the coffee machine, poured himself a cup and returned back to the table. "What we know is that a green knapsack was placed underneath a bench at the park. That knapsack contained a shrapnel-laden pipe bomb. Just thirteen minutes before the bomb exploded, a part-time security guard named Richard Jewell '_discovered_' it."

"Now, does anyone here have anything _productive_ to add?" Agent Brody looked around the room, focused on Casey, and asked, "How 'bout you?"

"Well Agent Brody, in looking at these pictures, it appears that the knapsack is a U.S. military ALICE pack," Major Casey responded pointing at the photograph of the pack and continued, "I think we're looking at someone with a possible military background."

"Jewell wasn't military, that doesn't fit his profile," Agent Brody said dismissively.

"So are we profiling Jewell or the possible terrorist?" the suit next to Casey inquired.

"Look, we _know_ that Jewell did it. He conveniently _discovered_ the bomb just minutes before it exploded? _Nah_." Agent Brody said confidently.

A scowl crept onto Major Casey's face. He knew that the evidence didn't point to the guy that the FBI seemed intent on charging with the crime. He didn't become an NSA agent to indict an innocent citizen with charges of terrorism. He felt compelled to speak.

"Permission to speak freely," Major Casey asked.

"This is not the Army, if you've got something to say--out with it," Agent Brody impatiently responded.

"Well, I just don't think this Richard Jewell geek is our man. The man's a part-time security guard. He couldn't figure out how to pack a suitcase much less a pipe bomb," Major Casey responded.

"Are you kidding? Jewell is the big fish," Agent Brody insisted.

"My money's on this Eric Robert Rudolph character. He fits the profile," the unknown suit next to Casey added.

Major Casey looked at the guy next to him with interest. Apparently, that guy had some of the same intel that the NSA had discovered. Namely, that the NSA had tracked a call from an extremist named Eric Rudolph just minutes before the blast.

"We're going with Jewell, all of our evidence indicates that he's our guy," Agent Brody blindly persisted. He gathered up the documents and files before him and made his way to the door.

Well that went as expected, Casey thought. He knew that 'speaking freely' to a superior never did any good in the military and it seemed that the same rules applied to government bureaucracies. Perhaps the thing that grated his last nerve though was that while he knew that he may not be in command of this investigation, he was clearly a superior man to the suit in charge.

Under his breath Major Casey muttered, "Well you better keep a strict eye on Rudolph because a guy like that's gonna run and when he does you'll never find him once he gets up in the Appalachians."

The guy next to him pulled out a business card and scribbled down a message. He slid it over to Casey--_Be careful, he's in the FBI--he's dumb, not deaf._

"You know, it sure would've been nice to have all of our intel together in one head and then we wouldn't have to deal with pompous FBI ingrates like him," the guy added after Agent Brody left the room.

Major Casey raised a brow and turned his head toward the guy in recognition. He couldn't help but think this guy had a point. He picked up the card and turned it over.

"I'm Brad, that's my card. It's 110 lb cardstock, brand new, genuine embossing, antique finish," the guy said.

Casey set the card back down. He patted his coat pocket making a gesture as if he was going to reciprocate with his own identification (only he was not). "Thanks, I'm fresh out."

"That's alright, guys like you speak more with your weapon of the moment anyway," Brad responded.

"That right? What is your affiliation anyway?" the Major asked puzzled as he looked down at the guy's card.

"Let's just say I'm here to fight the new wars on terrorism," Brad remarked. As he walked out the room he added, "Give me a call if you're interested."

As the Major watched the enigma walk out he gruffed, "Damn CIA. They're always scheming against someone."

The Major stood up, did an about face, and walked out of the room leaving the card on the table. Had Casey taken the card with him or at bare minimum remembered Brad White a dozen years later, the NSA protector would've likely saved his future charge from having all of the psychotic man's dark secrets put in his head.

* * *

**August 30, 1996 – Hartford, CT**

Chuck returned home from a long day at school. As he was unlocking the front door, he heard the phone ringing from inside the empty house. He dropped his flute case and books on the sofa and ran over to get the phone.

"Hello?" he answered out of breath.

"Chuck? Is that you?" an unidentified man asked.

"Yes, can I help you?" Chuck responded.

"Chuck this is Ted Roark, I've been looking for your dad. Have you seen or heard from him?"

"No sir, in fact, we haven't heard a thing from him in well over a month. It's like he just vanished into thin air," Chuck responded sheepishly.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Listen Chuck, if you hear from your dad will you be sure and let me know right away? You know he's welcome back at work anytime," Roark stated.

Chuck couldn't believe it. His dad clearly had the best boss in the world. Even after his dad had completely disappeared without a word, Mr. Roark couldn't think of anything except welcoming him back. For his part, Chuck was no longer in a state of shock over his dad's departure. The teen's grief due to his dad's abandonment had recently manifested itself in bitterness over his situation. And yet, here was a man that seemed ready to forgive his dad without any conditions. Chuck thought he could learn a lot from a great man like Mr. Roark.

"That's awfully nice of you Mr. Roark seeing as how dad went completely AWOL," Chuck sighed.

"Well, I always told him that I'd personally look out for you," Roark responded. Chuck had no idea of the true import of this statement.

"Thanks. By the way, congratulations on the new image technology, it sounds like fascinating stuff," Chuck responded earnestly.

"You know about _that_?" Roark asked with particular emphasis.

"Oh yes sir, I read all about it in the newspaper a while back," the eager to please teen replied.

"You ought to come check us out if you ever get to Southern California. You're a sophomore, right? What are your plans after graduation?" Roark asked.

"I don't know. I'd like to go to one of the top electrical engineering schools maybe: MIT, Stanford, Berkley, Georgia Tech—although I don't know about going to Tech now after the bombing and all," Chuck responded.

"I understand," Roark replied.

"Yeah, it's amazing what people with the _wrong_ motivations are capable of." Chuck anticipated a prompt affirmance by Mr. Roark but instead there was silence.

After a moment, Mr. Roark cleared his throat and said, "Well, I'm a Stanford man myself—let me know when the time comes for you to apply and I'll talk to Dean Hennessy--we go way back. We also have co-op positions which could put a little money back in your pocket."

"That would be fantastic, Mr. Roark! I will definitely remember that," Chuck smiled and hung up the phone.

It was nice to know that someone still cared about him. His sister called at least once a day but it wasn't the same as when she was there. It wasn't that Chuck was needy; it was just that there wasn't anybody else. He has lonely and had no one to confide in.

Chuck made a mental note to contact Mr. Roark in the future if the opportunity presented itself. His dad's boss had been awfully good to them even after his dad had obviously flaked out. Mr. Roark was exactly the kind of guy that Chuck wanted to be like: a good boss, an innovator, the kind-of guy that watched out for you, who looked in on your family when you were gone, an all-round decent humanitarian and citizen.

Chuck turned on the television. The news headlines were still focused on the investigation into the park bombing down in Atlanta. Chuck walked into the kitchen to grab a soda. Although he wasn't really paying attention to the screen, in the far background there was a new NSA agent on the job.

* * *

**September 18, 1996 **

Chuck was back in his bedroom working on his homework when he heard the phone ring. He bolted to the kitchen and got to the receiver just in time.

"Happy Birthday baby brother!" Ellie shouted happily. Her enthusiastic bellow made Chuck take the phone away from his face to protect his ear drum from bursting.

Chuck put his ear back to the phone and responded, "It's great to hear from you, Ellie!" Her calls were truly the highlight of his day. In the time since his dad had left and his sister had moved away to college, Chuck had pretty much given up doing everything except school and band. He came straight home each night and waited for her call. He missed her terribly. She was all that he had left.

The eldest Bartowski sibling could tell that her younger brother was genuinely thrilled to hear from her. Even though she made a point of calling him everyday, she knew it wasn't enough. She knew how lonely her big-hearted brother must be living in that house all by himself. She set upon herself to ask her standard questions and gauge how he was doing.

"So how are your classes going?" she asked.

"Fine. How 'bout yours?" he responded as if by memory.

"Fine," she responded and stopped. Suddenly, Ellie didn't feel like going through the same questions and getting the same tired responses. She felt so far apart from her brother, as if she was losing him and he was all that she had left. Had it not been for her strong will, she may not have had the emotional strength to bring up the one who had abandoned them. She was still very upset about situation. But she knew that they had to talk about him and so she cut to the chase.

"Have you heard from dad?" Ellie asked straight-forward. It was time that they had the talk—the talk about their future. They had danced around this issue long enough and it was time for them to start taking care of one another together. _To hell with dad and his leaving to get pancakes. I can make pancakes without him,_ she thought. So what if she wasn't much of a cook. She knew that she could learn and she knew that she could take care of her brother.

"Well, I kind of heard from him. He sent me a birthday card with a phone number inside it. I called the number. It was to a pay phone outside this place called 'Arizona Charlie's.' Nobody had ever heard of him."

"That's strange," she replied.

"Yeah. There's something else we need to talk about. This lady from the Department of Social Services keeps coming by and asking about our parents. Up 'til now, I've been able to convince her that dad was working late but I don't feel right lying to her. I think she's getting suspicious and I don't know what else to say to her. Ellie, I can't go to someone else's house and be their kid," Chuck said in desperation.

His anxiety was unmistakable. She knew it was time for him to give up on their father coming back to them. She had already made that decision herself but she knew that her caring brother might not be ready to let him go yet and so she began her response carefully.

"Look Chuck, it's been six weeks," Ellie paused and softly continued, "I just don't know if he's coming back."

She waited for a response only there was none. She sighed and let out a deep breath into the receiver. In his silence, Ellie could sense the internal turmoil that her brother must have been feeling. She hated that she couldn't be there to comfort him through this—and on of all days--his 15th birthday. She decided to shift the conversation a bit.

"How are you with money right now?" she asked.

Chuck broke his silence, "Well, that's the other problem; the stash under dad's mattress is about gone. I was going to try the bank and explain the whole bit about our parents being gone but I'm afraid they'll call DSS. It's like I said, I don't want to be put in some foster home because our dad walked out, you know?"

The last sentence really hit home for Ellie Bartowski. She could sense her brother's despondency. But worse, she sensed something new from her brother--_bitterness_. It was the second time that her brother had mentioned foster care and now he coupled it with their dad's abandonment. The distance between them had really caused her to miss him, especially during conversations like this one. She hated that her brother was becoming so jaded. It was time to say what was really on her mind.

"Chuck, I think you should move out here with me."

"To L.A. are you kidding?"

She expected this response. She was prepared for it.

"My scholarship pays for my tuition, and room and board (even off-campus), and my roommate just moved out—so you could just move in with me," she answered. Ellie didn't let on that she hadn't yet kicked her roommate to the curb. But she didn't care, her brother needed her and she needed him.

"I dunno Ellie, I'm in the middle of a semester and then there's band . . . ," Chuck's voice trailed off.

"Charles Irving Bartowski, are you kidding me? You hate the band, you only did it because dad made you and now where is he?" Ellie interrupted. She couldn't believe the weak excuse she was hearing.

"Okay, well you got me there," Chuck answered and even let out a half-laugh. She missed his laugh.

"Hey, at least this way, we'll be able to take care of ourselves. Just pack up and ship your stuff, and get on the next bus out here," Ellie responded. She wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. He was all she had left.

"I will on one condition," he smiled and continued, "Tell me I never have to play the flute again."

"Chuck, you'll never have to play the flute again. Now get packing! I'll see you in a couple days."

Ellie smiled as she hung up the phone. When she did, the cord got caught on the bracelet on her wrist—her mom's charm bracelet. After Chuck had come home with it on the day after their dad disappeared she had taken to wearing it as a coping mechanism. She looked down at the guardian angel and heart charms. She might have been Chuck's guardian angel but he was definitely her heart.

As she took off the bracelet to untangle it from the cord, she realized how much she had really missed her brother and his heart. She missed taking care of him. She knew that they had a tough road ahead of them. But she knew that they could face anything together.

It was the last time she ever put that bracelet on. She didn't need it anymore. Ellie had something much stronger on the way—the love of her baby brother. She couldn't wait to see him.

* * *

**September 18, 1996 – Las Vegas, NV**

Steve Bartowski wished he could see his kids and tell them how sorry he was for leaving them, but he couldn't. He thought about them as he sat at the breakfast counter of the Sourdough Café in the Arizona Charlie's casino. In the short time that he had been in Vegas, he had become very familiar with its Charlie's pancakes—one of seven choices they offered on their 77 cent breakfast menu. Steve sat at the counter in silence. Charlie's was the kind of place that locals came every day but no one seemed to mind when an interloper like himself temporarily joined them. Vegas was truly a place where anyone could get lost and never be heard from again.

He only planned to be in Vegas long enough to make some scratch and move on. The safety of his family depended on him getting lost forever. Steve's photographic memory really helped him when it came to table games although he tried to stay away from high stakes and high profile establishments. He knew that all the casinos had surveillance and that it was only a matter of time that he would be recognized. He never got cocky—greed was an indulgence that he could ill-afford. His kids' chances at normal lives were too important to him.

He wasn't going to cry in his cornflakes but he was feeling particularly low that morning.

It was his son's birthday. He wished he could just call him. Chuck was 15. Soon, he would be able to get his learner's permit. Steve thought about the jalopy that his son had MacGyvered that summer to win the Science Olympiad competition. Now he was wishing that he had taken the time to show him how to drive it. There were so many things he was thinking of that he should've done differently but didn't.

There were so many things Steve thought of that he would never get to do with his kids. He'd never get to see Chuck graduate high school, he'd never experience Ellie become an amazing doctor, he'd never witness Chuck grow into a man, he'd never get to walk Ellie down the aisle on her wedding day. The cost of this separation was almost unbearable but he knew it was a sacrifice that he had to make in order to give his kids a chance at a real life.

Still, he bet his life on his son. In the chance that his boy needed him, he knew without a doubt that Chuck would be able to find him. Steve had left Chuck all the clues he needed to find him but nothing so obvious as to alert Roark or any of the others who were all looking for him. Between the bracelet, the fortune cookie saying on the bible, the PPV of _Mission Impossible, _the missing pears, and now the birthday card that he had sent him a few days ago, there was no way that a boy as smart as Chuck couldn't put it altogether if he truly put his mind to it and needed him.

Steve paid for his meal and walked out of Arizona Charlie's for the last time. He got in the '66 Airstream Overlander he had recently bought and headed north on Highway 95. He had a seven hour trip ahead of him and he wanted to reach Parran before nightfall. He knew how cold and lonely the desert got at night. In all likelihood, this day might be the last time he saw a living soul in a long, long time. Even still, he knew that he had to be careful because there was always someone watching.

* * *

**January 2, 2009 – Echo Park, CA**

Chuck glanced up at the camera in the light fixture above him. He knew in all likelihood that he was being watched but it didn't matter to him. He looked back down at the fortune cookie saying and put it back in his wallet for some other time when he might need it.

"Well, wherever you are dad, I'm going to find you. I made a promise to Ellie. She took care of me when you didn't, and now I'm going to take care of her."

Chuck closed the last birthday card that he ever received from his dad. He put it back in the envelope and set it down on the desk. He pulled a pen out from his pocket protector and began writing the same address on the outside of another envelope. He wrote:

_. . . . . . . . . . Stephen J. Bartowski  
. . . . . . . . . . 18944 Sahara Avenue  
. . . . . . . . . . Las Vegas, NV 89104_

As Chuck finished labeling the envelope for the Bartowski-Woodcomb wedding invitation, he had no doubt in his mind that he would find his dad. He had no doubt that he would fulfill his promise to his sister. He had no doubt that no matter what his father's reason for leaving them that Chuck had forgiven him in his heart.

Still, he wondered what his dad would think of the way he turned out.

* * *

**[Will Chuck find his dad? What happens when Chuck is ordered to seek a job at Roark Industries? Will Chuck and Sarah ever say how they feel about one another? All of this and more in upcoming chapters of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man.**_**]**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! I'm notorious for putting your suggestions in the story. If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**

**[P.S.: As wrenching as chapters 7-8 were to write, I'm glad you stuck with me. As a little fun for my reader friends, can you name the homages to other film/television entertainment (other than to Chuck) in this chapter? By my count, there are 8. There might even be a prize.]**

**[P.S.S.: BlueEyedBrigader--the 'alphabet gang' bit was just for you! [wink]]**


	9. Spelling HEAT

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Special thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader and top-secret reconnaissance gatherer in the Chuck universe!**

**[A/N: This chapter assumes that **_**Chuck v. Best Friend followed Chuck v. 3-D **_**as these episodes were originally scheduled].**

* * *

**Chapter 9— Spelling H-E-A-T**

**1/21/09 5:00 p.m.**

While finishing off the final touches of his Willy Wonka chocolate bar, he wobbled into the Buy More. He thought about the ramifications of what he had experienced that day at the Happy Heights Senior Center. He couldn't believe it. WWCD? What Would Chuck Do? Where did Chuck go on his off-site installs? _He knew._ He knew something that all the other green shirts wanted to know. _Even Chuck's BFF didn't know,_ he grinned from ear-to-ear with a chocolate-coated smile. He knew what Chuck did.

This was going to be better than when he made out with that pink-laced drunk girl from Benny's the night that they had the kegger at the store. _That was a girl wasn't it?_ He was more than a little 'dazed and confused' about what happened. But it didn't really matter, he was really 'gettin' there' in the home theater room that night! At least he was until Lester came by and stopped all their McLovin.

Head prefect of all things BuyMoria--Emmitt Milbarge--would pay dearly for this knowledge. Only he wasn't a sell-out like that nerd herder Skip Johnson. The last thing he wanted was his picture up on the wall next to Buy More CEO Moses Finklestein. He had his own standards and his own motivations. He was Jeffster's #1 fan (and not terribly unlike the Kathy Bates in _Misery_ way). And with this information, Fernando Delgado knew that he would get a front-row pass at their next gig. He might even score a t-shirt.

The one whose name began his favorite band was sitting at the nerd herd technical support desk. Fernando was clearly nervous, but this green shirt knew that this was his chance to score points with a man who was both an arcade legend and a musical genius. As Fernando neared the desk, he saw the Buy More marvel put a pen down after he finished cleaning his ear with it. Not a person of many words – in fact, not a person of any words - Fernando Delgado picked up Jeff's ear utensil and scribbled, _I know WWCD._ Suddenly, the flushed green-shirt had his 'much cooler' mentor's attention.

Jeff stared wide-eyed back at the silent 'Other' (as Emmitt often called him) and his mouth watered in anticipation. Jeff mouthed, "You know where Chuck goes?"

Fernando nodded as beads of sweat began to form on his upper lip.

After years as Missile Command World Champion, Jeff knew a devoted fan-boy when he saw one. "If you tell me," Jeff paused and continued, "I'll let you sit in on one of our jams and you can even meet my ferret Roscoe."

Fernando gleefully squealed like a pig which clearly took the cooler nerd Jeff aback for a moment. Could Jeff really hang with this 'person' for the sake for the sake of learning Chuck's secret? This green shirt was such a geek. But for the sake of national security, BuyMoria security that was, Jeff knew it was time to take one for the team. He motioned for the green shirt to continue.

Fernando leaned toward Jeff and whispered something into his ear. Jeff ran his fingers through his thinning hair and scrunched his eyes brows. He wasn't sure he heard him right and so Jeff asked, "Scrabble?"

* * *

**Four hours earlier . . . (give or take a few minutes)**

"Scrabble?" Chuck questioned in disbelief.

"You want me to skip the rest of my shift at the Buy More to go play _Scrabble_?" He added with inflection the second time.

"What's wrong Bartowski, can't leave the shenanigans of the Buy More behind?" the green-shirted NSA Agent responded.

"No, I mean Yes. For the sake of national security, fine," Chuck looked at both of his handlers. He turned his palms up and questioned, "But for Scrabble? Besides I'm no wordsmith. Puzzles fine. Jenga I'm there. But letters on a rack?"

"Alright Chuck, have it your way," the Major manipulator looked over at Agent Walker and winked. "We appreciate you expressing your concern for the success of the mission by identifying your own shortcomings to us."

Chuck nodded. He knew a backhanded compliment when he heard one, but he thought that perhaps he was finally getting somewhere with Casey. Maybe Chuck was finally going to get to make some decisions with respect to their missions.

"Agent Walker, you're the Harvard grad, why don't we enter you in the contest?" Casey slyly offered waiting for Bartowski to take the bait.

In typical fashion, the nerd latched right on to the lure--hook, line, and sinker.

"Wuh? Harvard?" Chuck stared at Sarah for a brief moment in disbelief.

Agent Walker scrunched her brows and scowled at the NSA agent, "Thanks a lot, Casey." It was readily apparent from the shift in her stance that she was uncomfortable with Casey delving into her past for the sole purpose of drawing Chuck in. She really didn't want to manipulate Chuck. Instead, she would have much rather been honest with him about the reason that she would not fit in at the Scrabble tournament. Unfortunately, she knew that Casey's pretense would make Chuck think that he was making his own decisions.

"What you didn't know that your main squeeze was a brain tease?" Casey quipped.

"You went to Harvard?" Chuck focused on Sarah as his expression changed to admiration mixed with the typical Bartowski sly 'I know something else about Sarah Walker' look.

"Where do you think she learned all of those languages you moron—Rosetta Stone?" the Major was clearly on a roll.

Chuck took his focus off of Sarah and coolly responded directly to Casey. "I don't know. I guess I never really thought about it."

The stoic girl across from him remained eerily quiet – so much so that Chuck _knew_ that he had just discovered another piece in the puzzle that was Sarah Walker. There was still so much that he didn't know about the beautiful, blonde and _smart_ agent. He really wanted to follow up--to ask more questions and fill-in more detail--but he _knew_ from her blank expression that now was not that time. Those remaining pieces would have to wait.

Casey smiled. It was now time to reel Chuck in and back to the task at hand.

"Here, take a look at the participants in the tournament and see if you flash on any of them." Casey smiled and winked again at Agent Walker.

Chuck looked down at the photographs of the tournament entrants. Glancing from one to the next, his brow became furrowed and his eyes narrowed. "Mmm… Uh… Oh…" he remarked as he perused each face. This was quite a collection of… eccentrics. They kind of reminded him of the people who came to the Buy More for Jeff's Missile Command event a few months ago. _Whoa – a mullet?_ Chuck expected vacant eyes and a slack expression from this Laslo Hollyfeld, yet a more careful inspection of the man's face revealed… a 'real genius'? He scanned through the rest: Eugene "The Plague" Belford and Ben "Number 5 Is Alive" Janituya (who appeared to be identical twins); Pat Riley (whose gender was not readily discernable); Steve Urkel (in oversize glasses and suspenders); Arnold Poindexter (with electric shock hair over a three piece suit) and finally Maury Cheeks.

Chuck shook his head slowly and allowed himself a small smirk. Maury Cheeks, in his "Five for Fighting" airbrushed concert tee and incredible comb-over hairdo. It was this guy that finally clued him in as to what crowd they were dealing with here. These were not even Jeff's people – these were _Emmitt Milbarge's_ people.

Chuck had heard about and occasionally caught glimpses of these echelons of nerdom but he had never experienced them. He was unsure if even _he_ could pass for one of the trolls in this crowd. But he was certain that the beautiful CIA Agent, even if she was Harvard educated, would have no chance at all.

"Okay, Casey we can't let Sarah go in there. She would stick out like a sore thumb," Chuck sighed.

Casey nodded. _Manipulation complete._

"Yeah, we're gonna need someone who can look the part," Agent Walker paused and gave her partner a cold condescending 'wouldn't it have been easier to just tell in the truth' look.

"Don't look at me," the confident Major picked up his Desert Eagle pistol and put a round in the chamber which made the distinctive '_CHINCK CHINCK'_ noise. "The only game I play involves this little toy right here," he responded with a gleam in his eye.

"Well, I'm sure that that would be real _helpful_ in this crowd, Officer Tackleberry," Chuck muttered as he pointed to the much more nerdy people in the photographs on the table.

"Look, Chuck don't worry, I'll get you through it," Sarah said as she placed her hand reassuringly on top of his. He looked down at her hand and back at her face and warmly smiled. Realizing her slip, Agent Walker withdrew but not before John Casey noticed the gesture and grunted.

"Can we get back to the mission Joanie and Chachi?" the Major quipped.

Chuck raised the side of his lip and gave a silent snarl.

Agent Walker refocused on the paperwork in front of her as if nothing had happened. "While we were gathering intelligence in Glendale, we found something definitely odd was going on at the Center."

Chuck sensed a chance to get back at the Major 'pain in his behind.' "Wait, you had an undercover recon at the Happy Heights Senior Center? Lemme guess Casey--shuffleboard and checkers, riding around in a motorized scooter, posing as the lady in a Snuggie who'd fallen down and couldn't get up?" Chuck smirked.

"Bartowski! If you don't shut your trap, I'm gonna tell every in this room about what's fallen down and can't get up." Casey pointed down at the 'produce' section of the other male in the room.

"Wha…?" Chuck pouted for a second as he looked down at the lower half of his body, but quickly recovered, sort of. "See, I knew I could bring the old Casey back out, I was beginning to miss the degrading quips about my manhood."

"Can we focus on the mission you two?" Agent Walker cut in and continued in an effort to get them back on track and also to forget the slip in her own resolve a few moments before.

"Alright, from the NSA intercepted phone calls which originated from the Senior Center, we determined that these calls all occur on the same day each week at the same time of day," Casey explained with renewed focus.

"Chuck, the only events that are regularly scheduled at that time are these Scrabble tournaments," Agent Walker responded.

"Our intelligence suggests that someone is forging our satellite links to Creech Air Force base and that our squadrons of MQ-1 Predators and MQ-9 Reapers have been affected as a result," the Major responded.

"Affected, what do you mean affected?" Chuck questioned as he looked at Sarah.

"So far whoever is doing this have not been successful," she began.

Casey interjected, "But whoever tried to take control of the squadron's operations center didn't have the correct encryption keys for the telemetry _before."_

Chuck looked at the Major, "What about now?"

"Well, if these terrorists try this again, and they have the right keys, there will be no stopping them from launching multiple surprise attacks with the Hellfire missiles attached to these birds from anywhere they are stationed in the world," the Major responded with a grave tone.

Chuck gulped.

"What we don't know is who 'they' are, how the keys are being leaked, and how they are disseminating them. And so, that's what we need to determine on this mission," Agent Walker responded.

"As part of our on-site reconnaissance, I posed as a cable guy. While I was there I saw a company—Barak Mobility—installing some heavy duty hard lines as well as some military-grade surveillance equipment inside the Center. It appeared that some of the hard technology was manufactured by Roark Instruments," Major Casey stated.

"You're kidding?" Chuck said as he rolled his eyes and leaned back into his chair.

"Why, did you flash?" Sarah asked with some concern.

"Huh? . . . no." Chuck shook his head. He refocused and continued, "That was just the company my dad used to work for more than a decade ago."

"Well, it appears that the Center has broken ground on a new expansion and they are using some of Roark's technology to update the security at the facility. There are quite a few contractors on-site so keeping an eye out for any unsavory types won't be as simple as we previously thought," Casey paused and cleared his throat before he continued, "but Agent Walker thought that the Intersect could help narrow down our target." The Major still couldn't bring himself to openly admit that the Intersect or Bartowski could provide much-needed intelligence that his cold-school strong-arm tactics could not.

Agent Walker half smiled at Casey in recognition and then turned to the other member of their team. "Chuck, do you know anything about Lateral Energies? They are listed on the electrical permits?"

"No, I got nothing."

"How about Holloway Corporation? They are listed as the general contractors," she continued.

"No, nothing. Sorry."

"As usual Bartowski, thank you for completely wasting _my_ time," the Major retorted as they made their way out of the castle.

Chuck shrugged at him and followed him up the metal staircase. He had no way of knowing that in a matter of weeks he'd be all too familiar with these innocuous sounding companies – each a fully functioning shell corporation _of Fulcrum_.

* * *

There was no time to waste. Fernando Delgado wobbled into the Happy Heights Senior Center just in the nick of time. It was only 45 minutes before the kick-off of the Scrabble tournament. He had to make sure that his sibling 'Pat' was primed and ready for the big match. With any luck, Pat would make the semi-finals which would guarantee a trip to the National Scrabble Championships in Reno, Nevada later that spring.

Fernando brought all the essentials--Jolt cola, Pop Rocks, Mylanta, and wet wipes, along with Pat's cassette mix tape and walkman. As he neared his sibling, Fernando noticed that Pat was reading the bible--the OSPD ("Official Scrabble Players Dictionary"). Although only half-siblings, Pat and Fernando were strikingly similar—both were rotund with short, curly hair and glasses. Since it was his day off, Fernando also wore a blue western-style shirt with tan slacks to match Pat. As Fernando neared with the supplies, Pat nasally squeaked, "Ewww!" in recognition.

Fernando put the mix tape in the walkman, pushed 'play' and handed it to Pat. As Pat put on the earphones, _Joe Esposito's _song _You're the Best Around_ cued. Pat grabbed the Pop Rocks and washed them down with the Jolt Cola. Pat's stomach rumbled in protest which prompted Pat to take a large gulp of Mylanta. These 'necessary' steps were all part of the pre-match routine that they had developed long ago in preparation for this moment. In anticipation, Pat's palms, face, and neck began to sweat profusely. Fernando grabbed the wet wipes and toweled off Pat's hot neck and forehead. He could just hear the words from Pat's earphones:

_. . . . . . . . . . You're the Best around nothing's ever gonna keep you down_

_. . . . . . . . . . You're the Best around nothing's ever gonna keep you down_

Fernando knew that Pat was the best semi-pro scrabble player around. In this nerd's eyes, nothing was going to keep his sibling down.

* * *

Team Bartowski arrived at the Happy Heights Senior Center approximately 20 minutes prior to the start of the tournament. Although the ancient crowd suspiciously eyeing them outside had not changed, there was definitely a lot of new activity going on adjacent to the west of the building. As they drove by the entrance they noticed a new sign:

Happy Heights Senior Center

Invites you to join the best new place around:

Meadow Brook Retirement Village

Opening May 2009

-----------

Financing made possible through Teveron Consulting

General Contractor—Holloway Corporation

"Hey Casey, looks like we've found a place for you to retire when the NSA finally springs for an upgrade," Chuck said gesturing to the sign as he got out of the van.

"Can it Bartowski, you remember what happened last time we were here," Casey coolly pointed to the Dobermans sitting by the same old man sleeping in a rocking chair. From the look of the guy and his academy ring, Casey deduced he was retired navy. Casey looked down at his own service ring in recognition. Of course, Chuck didn't notice this as he was too busy yammering into his watch.

"Yeah, Sarah did he tell you how I totally saved the mighty Casey from getting a literal ass-chewing?" Chuck joked into his watch.

She smiled in the van as she listened to their banter. She knew better than to get in the middle of that conversation.

"Stop your lip smacking, we don't want to stir them up _again_," Casey said as they neared the door.

Almost as if there was an instant replay of a scene from weeks ago, the dogs rose to attention. As before, Chuck wasn't paying any attention to the dogs.

"_Hell-O_, you forgot about my . . . whistles" Chuck whistled as he shook his iPhone in jest.

The Dobermans interpreted Chuck's gesture as a call to duty and started toward them.

"Great, not again. Gimme that," Casey grabbed Chuck's iPhone, punched the , and pointed it at the hounds. The dogs scurried back to their master. But before they moved on into the Center, Casey used Chuck's iPhone to take a picture of the sleeping gentleman and made a quick close up on retired serviceman's ring. He always made it a practice to honor those in some way who had served before him.

Chuck looked back at Casey as if to wonder what the hold up was. Casey snapped out of it and snickered.

"What is it with you and dogs, Bartowski?"

* * *

Inside the Center, what might be described as a 'dog' of a person was finishing up the 'Pat Riley' pre-match ritual. Pat had already registered and waiting to attack. Pat's first prey was Laslo Hollyfeld. Pat knew Laslo's reputation for being a 'real genius' due to his winning 31.8% of the 1985 Frito Lay sweepstakes prizes. Laslo had taken the 'No purchase necessary, enter as often as you want' guideline seriously when he flooded the contestant pools with millions entries. Due to his success, sweepstakes rules nationwide were changed to 'One entry per contestant' and thus, Laslo had switched to semi-pro competitive Scrabble as a way to earn some scratch.

Pat knew that the winner of this match would then play the winner of the Poindexter-Carmichael match. Pat knew Arnold Poindexter well--that 'nerd' was out for 'revenge' since the last time Pat defeated him. Pat didn't know anything about newcomer Charles Carmichael but rookies were usually easy kills and so Pat anticipated a thriller of a re-match with Poindexter in the next round.

Pat glanced at the other bracket. Eugene "The Plague" Belford was a 'hack' of a player. He was up against the robotics geek, Ben "Number Five is Alive" Jabituya. Pat always found it suspicious that neither of these scrabble vets were in the room at the same time. It was almost as if one of them was Clark Kent and the other was . . . no, Pat stopped. Neither of those creeps was Superman. For years, Pat had 'fished' for answers about that oddity almost as much as they had unsuccessfully sought answers from Pat about Pat's sexuality. "_Ewww!_" Pat thought. All of their 'fishing' had left each of them with nothing—even 'steven'.

The remaining opening match pitted Steve Urkel up against Maury "Sweet" Cheeks. Maury was still a relative newcomer to the semi-professional Scrabble ranks. Unlike Pat, Maury Cheeks didn't quit his day job at Roark to focus on Scrabble. He was a bit of an enigma to Pat and his tile play sometimes confused the seasoned vet. He was skittish and had a strange habit of zoning out during some of his matches. Maybe he would zone out today, the competitor in Pat thought.

With any luck, today would be Pat's day. Pat was now ready to play some tiles.

* * *

As the male members of Team Bartowski made their way to the tournament registration desk, Chuck again recognized that for once he might be 'too-cool' for this crowd. He knew if he tried to explain to Casey that there were definitely levels of nerdom and that the gamer nerds were much cooler and rarely, if ever, mixed with the board gamer geeks, he would just have to endure some disapproving grunt or another comment about his manhood. Instead, for once Chuck decided to focus on the task at hand—i.e. trying to look as though he fit in.

"Casey, I'm not dressed for this."

Casey scanned the room. Chuck's nerd herd uniform was actually the hippest thing in the room, aside from his own green-shirt and khakis. Normally, Casey would have worn full spy-gear for a mission, but in this case he had thought that their Buy More uniforms would look the part. As he finished his visual sweep of the room, he scowled and recognized that Chuck was right.

"Lose the tie," Casey responded.

Chuck took off his tie and badge. As he started to take off his other nerd herd gear, Casey stopped him.

"Keep the pocket protector, you're gonna need that to look the part."

"Here, take these, they'll be our eyes on you, they contain a camera for us to see what you are looking at," Casey handed him some horn-rimmed glasses with scotch tape wrapped around the nose bridge.

"And pull up your pants so that we can see your white socks, but not so much as to scare anyone with a Bartowski camel toe," Casey quipped.

Chuck sneered with a half-curled lip.

"Wait, hold it!" Casey pulled out Chuck's iPhone from his pocket and took a picture. The Major couldn't help but chuckle as he slid his finger across the screen and tapped 'send'.

"What did you do that for?" Chuck asked.

"Birth control."

"WAIT! _Who_ did you send that to?" Chuck asked dreading the answer.

And he received his answer through his earwig as he heard the much prettier member of Team Bartowski begin to cough violently as if she'd swallowed something down the wrong pipe which lead Casey to let out a snort of victory.

"Great. As much fun as it is for you to make fun of 'uber-nerd Charles Carmichael,' can we just get this over with and figure out how the code is being disseminated?"

Casey smiled a satisfied half-grin as he looked up at the tournament bracket overhead. "Looks like you're up against Arnold Poindexter first, go get 'em champ," Casey said shoving Chuck toward the tourney tables with a swift pat on the back.

As Chuck made it over to his table, he heard the tournament announcer give a few opening remarks.

"Welcome to the Glendale Regional Scrabble Tournament! The top four finishers will receive automatic berths to the National Scrabble Tournament in Reno, Nevada coming up in a short few weeks," the tournament director announced.

Several ewws and ahhhs came from the crowd. Casey grunted. Under his breath he whispered '_Nerdvana' _purely for Agent Walker's benefit.

"Let the tile laying begin!" the tournament director finished.

Chuck sat down and waited for his opponent. He noticed from across the room a red-headed cross-eyed guy with coke-bottle glasses in a three-piece polyester suit making his way slowly toward him but not before bumping into every other table in the room. Chuck stood up and extended his hand to guy. "Hi, I'm Chuck . . . Charles Carmichael," he remembered.

"Arnold Poindexter. Nice nerd pack, what have you got in it?" the red-headed geek asked as he pointed to Chuck's pocket protector.

"Oh, yeah, um, just a few essentials, you know, pens, pin light, Swiss-army knife, eye-glass screwdriver, electrical tape," Chuck remarked.

"What no compass?" Poindexter gruffed as if to brush off his opponent as a poser--truly an amateur nerd.

"Oh, I've got GPS in my watch . . . I mean iPhone—hey look at the time, we better get started," Chuck said as he grabbed the bag of tiles and pulled out a letter—I. Poindexter followed suit—A. Poindexter won the tile, proceeded to draw six additional tiles, and Chuck followed suit.

As Chuck turned over his tiles one by one, something unexpected happened.

_. . . . . . . . . . I-W-A-N-T-Y-O. . . . . . . . . ._

Chuck crossed his arms and temporarily rested his chin on his hand so that he could speak into the mike on his watch.

"Are you getting this?" he said under his breath.

Poindexter looked at him strangely.

"Oh, I was just talking to . . ." Chuck pointed to himself.

Poindexter scrunched his brows and then rolled his crossed-eyes.

Chuck reached up to his ear, took off his glasses, turned them around, and looked straight into them. The nerd in Poindexter dismissed Chuck's action as if he was checking to see if his glasses were clean.

Poindexter then put down his word to start the match:

_. . . . . . . . . . U-N-R-E-A-D. . . . . . . . . ._

Chuck put his glasses back on and looked at the board. He pointed to the first letter on the board and said, "I could end up with U." He sighed, "If only three words were allowed." After pausing for a moment, he muttered, "I just wonder what U are thinking?"

* * *

What was she thinking? Agent Walker sat in the van in silence as she stared at the monitor which displayed Chuck's rack of tiles.

_. . . . . . . . . . I-W-A-N-T-Y-O. . . . . . . . . ._

Before she could stop herself the thought popped into her head – _I want you too_. She swallowed hard. Through her headset she heard the object of her 'want' ask, "Are you getting this?"

All too well it seemed. Thank God he wasn't looking at her, she thought. He would be able to see straight through to her very soul. The monitor blurred due to unsteady movement. She looked down at the wires and checked the connections. Then she heard, "I was just talking to . . ." and when she looked back at the screen she saw a familiar face. It was hard to ignore the literalness of his gesture. Both his face and his overture were a little to close for comfort.

The screen blurred again and this time she knew that he was putting back on the glasses to turn his focus away from himself and back to the letters in front of him on his rack.

_. . . . . . . . . . I-W-A-N-T-Y-O. . . . . . . . . ._

The moment didn't shift when his competition put down his word to start the game.

_. . . . . . . . . . U-N-R-E-A-D. . . . . . . . . ._

She smiled weakly at the irony. Chuck couldn't see her. She had remained hidden, secretive… concealed. He hadn't been able to _read_ her feelings for him.

She heard him continue, _"I could end up with U._"

The Agent wasn't thinking about the Scrabble board. Instead Sarah was deliberating over this statement in a completely different way. How could he end up with her? This was an impossible situation. They could never end up together. There was no way. She grimaced silently.

And then she heard him say, "_If only three words were allowed." _

Her mind raced. Three words? She knew those words from deep within. On so many levels she didn't want her feelings to be hidden, to remain a mystery, to be unknown. _Unread_. She had even come to terms to allow herself to let him know them in secret.

She had blatantly alluded to her feelings on New Year's Eve when she practically dared him to figure out why her favorite flowers were gardenias. Funny thing was she cared less about the flowers than the meaning behind them. Their meaning – _I love you in secret_. She was certain now that Chuck knew their meaning. _If only three words were allowed_, she sighed. Could she tell him? Could she replace the 'want' in those tiles on the rack with another vastly more important word? And what would happen if she did? The introspection stopped for a moment when she heard him speak.

"I just wonder what U are thinking?" he said.

That was the problem. _U don't want to know_, was her first thought. But she knew that was a lie. He was almost desperate at times in his attempts to figure out what she was thinking. But she sure didn't want to burden him with her thoughts. In a strange way, she was more ready now to tell him her _feelings_, but definitely not her thoughts—they would hurt him. Her thoughts led her to a place that she didn't want to go. Her thoughts betrayed her heart. Her thoughts told her that they could never happen. There was no way. She knew that if she gave completely into her feelings and to him, that she would be reassigned. And what good would that do? She wished that there was some way to reconcile her heart's desire with the logic in her mind. But she couldn't. Her thoughts and her feelings were in stark conflict with one another. It was almost as if the feelings of her inner-Sarah, the ones that she had only recently let surface, were at war with the logic and thoughts of her outward Agent Walker.

"Walker."

She heard another man's voice through her headset. Casey. It was enough to snap her out of her obviously inappropriate deliberations. They were on a mission here and the longer she let her feelings enter into her thoughts; she knew that she was not doing her job. Besides Chuck had asked not what she was feeling, but instead what she was thinking she rationalized.

Agent Walker looked at the board.

_. . . . . . . . . . U-N-R-E-A-D. . . . . . . . . ._

She looked at Chuck's rack.

_. . . . . . . . . . I-W-A-N-T-Y-O. . . . . . . . . ._

She thought back to his question, _'What are you thinking?'_

She responded, "Noway"

"Huh?"

"N-O-W-A-Y," she spelled.

"Why?"

"That's right. Put the Y on the end of the word on the board. Then build your own word from there."

Agent Walker totally missed Chuck's question. She thought he meant the letter 'Y' instead of the question 'Why?' In Chuck's heart of hearts he wanted to know why there was 'no way'. The answer to his question would be apparent to him as soon as he laid down the tile. He added the Y to Poindexter's word to spell:

_. . . . . . . . . . U-N-R-E-A-D-Y. . . . . . . . . ._

He sighed as he looked at her answer to his question. _She was unready._ Then he placed his word on the board above the Y:

_. . . . . . . . . . N-O-W-A-Y. . . . . . . . . ._

He couldn't help but think about his own feelings at that moment. His mind and his feelings were not in conflict. He literally thought and felt that there was NO WAY that he was UNREADY.

He looked down at the remaining tiles on his rack.

_. . . . . . . . . . I-T. . . . . . . . . ._

He shifted the letters over and drew five more tiles and added them to his rack.

_. . . . . . . . . . I-T . . . . U-N-F-A-R. . . . . . . . . ._

He sighed in the realization that once again they were so close and yet so far away from one another. Chuck picked up the 'I' and placed it between the 'A' and 'R'. On Chuck's rack and in his mind all he could think about was how UNFAIR their situation was.

And if this first match was any sign of things to come, it was going to be a long day.

* * *

It had already been a long day, but Pat Riley had summarily defeated her first round opponent--Laslo Hollyfeld. Pat had literally swept the one-time sweepstakes ringer under the rug. With that win, Pat qualified for the National Scrabble Tournament in Reno. As Pat ecstatically inspected the brackets, Pat noticed that Belford, Cheeks, and the newcomer--Charles Carmichael, had all advanced to the next round, each earning berths to the national competition.

Pat wobbled over to the table where the next round was about to begin. Pat grabbed another package of Pop Rocks and sucked down the rest of the Jolt cola. Pat had sent Fernando to get some more cola but was unsure if he would be back for the next round. As Pat's next opponent neared the table, Pat couldn't help but think that he was the most beautiful thing that Pat had ever seen. Pat's heart raced, perhaps due to the combination of Jolt cola, Pop Rocks, and glowing excitement from seeing an almost normal looking man at a Scrabble tournament. Pat stood up to greet Chuck, swooned and fell straight back to the floor.

"Casey, man or ah, woman down?" Chuck dropped to the floor and checked Pat's vitals.

"She or he doesn't have a pulse," Chuck continued.

From the other side of the room, Casey looked in horror at the beached whale that Bartowski kneeled over. "Time to put all those hours of CPR to work."

"Why don't you come over and be the hero?" Chuck responded.

"No way, I've already gotten one face plant too many from you," the Major responded.

"Very funny," Chuck looked down at the swollen person. A crowd had gathered around them. The tournament director called 911 as Chuck attended to the down semi-pro Scrabble player.

Chuck tilted Pat's head back with the head-tilt chin-lift maneuver. He then used two fingers to find Pat's carotid artery and checked for a pulse while he leaned his ear over Pat's face and watched for signs of respiration. Pat still had a pulse but was not breathing. Chuck leaned down and gave Pat two full breaths. He re-checked Pat's pulse which was racing. He gave two more breaths. With the last breath, Pat came to. Pat looked up into Chuck's eyes with profound gratitude which soon gave way to a very creepy look of flushed longing.

From the other side of the room, Casey quietly spoke into his watch, "Nice work Bartowski, glad to see you're finally getting a little tonsil action."

Chuck smiled weakly as the enamored Pat continued to stare a little too thankfully.

Luckily for Chuck, the paramedics arrived quickly and insisted that Pat be escorted to the local hospital for observation. Fernando hobbled back just in time to see the shock of his sibling giving Chuck a big sweaty hug followed by an attempt to score another round of mouth-to-mouth. Chuck never saw Fernando or anyone else for that matter as he was focused on trying to get some distance from the moist drippy palms that had latched on to him. He was at least able to partially deflect the advancing Pat by turning his head only to have his ear bear the brunt of the Pat tongue assault before Pat let go. Chuck shook all over in disgust but to Pat his shaking was mistaken for shivers of joy. Even Casey was mortified by what had just happened.

"Way to take one for the team Chuck," the Major provided as he walked over to the assault victim. Casey reached down at the container of wet ones that were left by table and handed a dozen or so to Chuck. Their mutual look of disgusted shock remained firmly in place as Chuck wiped off his face, neck, and ear from the androgynous tongue lashing that he had just received.

After a few moments, and a good three dozen wet ones later, Chuck glumly looked over to Casey and asked, "Why is it they never tell you in CPR class that you might get molested by a 'shemale' once you save that person's life?"

Casey smiled and grunted. "Well, next time you make Walker breathless, maybe she'll put on the full out lip assault and make it up to you," he quipped.

"Very funny Casey. Besides, aren't you forgetting your own little 'dangerous liaison' with the Intersect?" Agent Walker responded through their earwigs.

Both Chuck and Casey looked at each other and groaned.

"We've got about 10 minutes before the final round. I've got something interesting to show both of you," Agent Walker instructed.

After making their way to the van, Agent Walker pulled up the surveillance footage from the tournament thus far.

"Chuck when you were busy saving that 'person's' life, a call was placed from the Center giving out two letters in the Predator encryption key," Agent Walker stated.

"So we know it had to have come from one of the other semi-finalists either Maury Cheeks or Eugene Belford," Casey deduced and continued, "but I've been watching both of them and I haven't detected a thing."

"Well, I did a more extensive background of both of them and it turns out that Maury Cheeks works for Roark Instruments," Agent Walker added.

"Roark again? You know I almost got a job there while I was at Stanford. I had the whole thing lined up for the summer of 2003, it was supposed to be a real dream job," Chuck said a bit pathetically.

"Well it looks like you're about to get to meet one of your 'dream' co-workers." Casey pointed to the screen as the three members of Team Bartowski noticed that Maury Cheeks had just won his match and advanced to the final round.

"Wait, a minute, there's another call going out from Center," Agent Walker interrupted and immediately started a trace on the call. She listened over the headset as she heard another set of letters being sent over the airwaves only to be abruptly disconnected.

"I guess my dream co-worker is into creating nightmares," Chuck weakly responded.

* * *

**Somewhere in the middle of the Nevada wilderness**

_What a terrible nightmare_, Steve Bartowski thought. He couldn't sleep, all he could see were planes flying overhead dropping missiles at will. To be sure, it was the middle of the afternoon, but Steve knew that he needed to be on high alert at night because that's when 'they' often came. He knew that even after all these years; they were still looking for him. Big Brother Ted Roark was always watching and waiting for him.

But this afternoon Steve had been startled not once but twice by the ringing of that pesky satellite phone that that nudey guy—Sweet Cheeks—had given him. It had been all busted up but Steve had fixed it. He had even hacked into NORAD just for old time's sake. But until recently, no one had ever called that number. He stared at the number as it rang.

_. . . . . . . . . . _(818) 867-5309_. . . . . . . . . ._

It was a Southern California extension. He knew who was calling; there was a sticker on the side of the phone which practically announced it--Roark Instruments. _Amateurs_, he coolly thought. Could they be more obvious?

"Ted you just never give up, do you?" he said out loud.

Steve reached over and took the battery off the back of the phone. He set the phone down, leaned back on the couch and looked back at the picture on the coffee table. A warm smile crossed his face in remembrance of that special day back in '96 when he took the photograph of his two kids. Eleanor wore her graduation cap while Chuck wore a goofy grin. He paused in calm reflection of the hard decision he made to leave them more than a dozen years ago. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't miss their smiles. He wondered how they were doing and what great things they had accomplished. Had they ever forgiven him for leaving them? Did they understand the sacrifice he had made to protect them from the evils of Ted Roark?

Unbeknownst to Steve, the slight gesture he had just made to stop the incessant ringing of the satellite phone was no less important than the enormous sacrifice he made years ago to protect his kids. By disconnecting that phone, he had thwarted the final connection being made to the Air Force base to the south of him. And by preventing that connection, he had saved not only his two children but millions more just like them from Predators around the world.

* * *

"Alright Chuck here's your chance to save millions, so don't be you and screw it up," Casey offered.

Chuck gave an anxious half-smile in return.

"Don't listen to Casey, you'll be fine," Sarah reassured him. "Just play your game and hopefully we'll figure out how Cheeks is communicating the code and we'll be able to stop him."

Chuck and Casey exited the van and made their way back into the tournament area separately. As Chuck made his way over to the game table he noticed that his competition was already seated and ready to play. Chuck walked over and nervously extended his hand to meet and shake the other finalist's hand. Chuck couldn't help but notice that the man was just as tense as he was.

"Hi, I'm Charles Carmichael," Chuck provided.

"Maury Cheeks. Say you look familiar," Cheeks responded deliberately, blinking his eyes a couple of times as if he was waiting for something to happen.

This guy was weird and it wasn't just his comb-over, Chuck thought. "Maybe it's the nerd herd uniform. I work at a Buy More, how about you?"

"I work for Roark Instruments, but I come here on my lunch breaks." Maury smiled easing up a bit.

Chuck looked at his watch and noticed that it was 3 o'clock and grinned, "Well, I'm supposed to be on an off-site install."

"I guess we all have our secrets don't we?" Cheeks responded. Chuck didn't miss the implicit irony in Cheeks' statement.

"Cut the chatter Bartowski, this guy is the enemy," Major Casey said through Chuck's earwig.

"I know," Chuck remarked in response to both Cheeks and Casey.

Cheeks' eyes widened and he nervously shifted in his seat upon hearing Chuck's response. Chuck couldn't help but wonder how this guy could possibly be a national security threat. He could barely keep it together and they hadn't even started to play a stupid board game for crying out loud.

"Would you like to play a game?" Cheeks smiled weakly.

"War games. Love that movie. I used to watch it all the time with my dad. I dig when the WOPR computer gets the code for the missiles and then they distract it and get it to learn by playing Tic-Tac-Toe . . . " Chuck stopped mid-sentence when he saw the NSA Agent across the room was not equally as amused.

"Too bad they didn't play Scrabble in that movie. You want to get started?" Chuck asked as he grabbed one tile and Maury did the same. Maury won the draw.

The match continued for some time while each player exchanged turns. Chuck was in the lead thanks to the help of a certain Ivy League educated wordsmith that had his ear. However, Agent Walker paid less attention to Chuck's rack this time – instead she focused on a different monitor which showed Cheeks' tiles. The wiretap that Casey had made on the new security feeds courtesy of Barak Mobility had come in handy this round. Near the end of the match, Agent Walker noticed Cheeks' rack had:

_. . . . . . . . . . P-R-E-D-A-T-O. . . . . . . . . ._

She looked back at the board and noticing an open 'R'.

"He's got a bingo," the Agent remarked.

"Bingo? I thought these nerds were playing Scrabble," Casey grumbled.

"No, it's a word that uses all the letters on a player's rack. He can spell out PREDATOR and get an extra 50 bonus points," Agent Walker explained.

"Wonderful, Mr. Predator here is about to spell out 'Predator' and give the Predator codes to some unknown Predator and all you want to do is shout 'Bingo'?" the Major vented.

"Hang on Casey, he's about to play," she answered.

Only, with his next play, Cheeks didn't play his bingo. Instead, he played the letters D-A- and E to spell:

_. . . . . . . . . . D-A-R-E. . . . . . . . . ._

Dare? Why did he play that word? Agent Walker was puzzled. Then she heard a call being made through the phone lines of the Center. Only one thing was said before the connection was severed, "Are?"

_Are?_ She thought for a moment and suddenly she was able to put it together. 'R'!!

Whoever was watching the match, whenever Cheeks had a playable seven-letter word on his rack and didn't play the bingo, it was a code, a tell, a bingo for the bad guys watching. So the next letter that he attached his smaller word to was the next part of the Predator and Reaper encryption key. Since Cheeks had attached his word to the letter 'R,' the R had to be part of the code.

"Casey, we got it. I know how they are passing off the code. Now we've just got to figure out who Cheeks is sending the message to," Agent Walker stated.

"Roger that, I'll move into position to grab Cheeks at the end of the match, maybe that'll smoke 'em out. Bartowski you . . . 'Stay.'" the Major responded.

As Casey moved closer to the table, Maury glanced over at him. A glint of light on Casey's right hand caught his eye – Casey's service ring, Chuck saw a strange look come over Maury's face. Maury's jaw slackened. His blank stare gave way as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his eye lids fluttered uncontrollably.

Chuck thought the guy was having a seizure. '_Great, am I going to have to give his guy CPR too?'_ he thought for a moment. As Chuck reached out to help him, Maury Cheeks lunged forward and let out a deep breath. Maury's eyes returned forward and he re-focused on Chuck and then on the guy that had triggered his reaction.

Casey stood there dumb-founded for a moment. He had seen that look many times before but only on one person—on the guy across the table from Maury Cheeks. If Casey didn't know better, he had just seen Maury Cheeks flash, and Cheeks had flashed _on him_.

Chuck noticed Casey's look and Maury's petrified stare. And then he knew.

Cheeks jumped up hitting the card-table with both knees. In one swift motion he threw the table, the board, and the tiles straight at Casey as he took off in the other direction. Casey climbed over the table and gave chase.

Chuck raised his wrist and said one word to the Agent in the van, "PINEAPPLE!"

* * *

As he bolted toward the Center's west emergency exit, Maury Cheeks inadvertently dropped something out of his coat—a gun. He was never much for guns anyway. Mere seconds behind, Casey followed in hot pursuit.

"Walker, I've been made. I don't know how he did it but that comb-over nerd had the same dazed and confused look that Bartowski gets whenever he flashes on something," Casey said as he continued west down the hallway in his quest to detain Maury Cheeks.

"How could that be?" Agent Walker asked while still running surveillance in the van.

"I don't know but I'm tracking him, it looks as though he's heading toward the construction area," Casey responded.

Agent Walker switched views of the surveillance feeds, "That's affirmative Casey, he's headed toward the emergency exit. But watch out four men just exited out of a storage room and are quickly approaching on your 6 o'clock, they must be who he's feeding the codes to. You stay on Cheeks; I'll take care of these guys. Oh and Chuck . . . ,"

"I know, Stay!" Chuck responded. He really didn't have much choice in the matter. He had just been declared the winner of the tournament given Maury's untimely and unsportsmanlike departure. As the tournament director hoisted up the trophy, the cheers from the crowd muffled the shots which were being fired due west of them by the unsavory men chasing Major Casey.

Casey ducked behind a large bundle of PVC pipe near the emergency exit. He waited for a break in the fire and then lunged for the door. He paused momentarily as he saw only air and scaffolding—it was at least a fifty foot drop off. Casey surveyed the ground and saw Cheeks already down and running west. He climbed onto the scaffolding and began to make his way down the four levels that separated them.

Due east of the real action yells of "Speech! Speech!" echoed through the crowd as Chuck took hold of the tournament trophy. It was not unlike the scene when he became Missile Command World Champion, only the crowd was much geekier. He looked out at the audience of nerds and yelled, "Thanks everybody . . . and I'll see you in Reno!" as he ran out the room in much haste and toward the van. When Chuck got to the van, he focused on the monitors to find where the other members of his team were.

As he switched feeds to an outside monitor, He saw four guys, all in black, making their way down the scaffolding in pursuit of Casey. Despite their haste the last guy remembered one thing; he kicked off the connecting scaffolding boards just outside the door to keep anyone from following them. Only these guys had no idea that the CIA's finest and perhaps most agile agent was hot on their trail.

Chuck focused on another monitor and saw Sarah run through the Center's kitchen and west to the side emergency exit past rows of PVC pipe, paint containers, and even an air compressor. She skirted all of these obstacles without breaking stride and kicked the emergency exit door open – only to be confronted with a yawning gap of air between herself and the ground fifty feet below. The tubular framework of the construction scaffolding unfolded beneath her, but no obvious walkway down seemed evident. There _was_ something about the arrangement of the crossbars that caught her eye, though…

She backed up and ran full force as she launched herself through the door reaching out for the closest bar. Chuck watched through the other monitor as she did what only could be described as a modified Giant Swing. She grabbed on to the bar and swung through and down in a piked position legs forward. The guy on the level below stood there slack-jawed for a sliver of a moment. And then Agent Walker's feet connected with the guy's mid-section, the force of her follow-through knocked him clearly off the scaffolding as he free-fell to the ground.

"Yes! Even Reardon Payne couldn't do that move," Chuck cheered with a pumped fist.

Agent Walker continued to her next mark she saw on the level below her. She ran full steam across the landing and reached out to the pipe scaffolding on the outer edge at an angle with a half-turn to a Salto forward—changing the force of her trajectory from outward to inward. As she swung through to the next level she again extended her legs in a piked position to pick off the second man as he too fell to his demise.

Chuck couldn't even do the mental gymnastics in his head to figure out how that move was even possible. All he could think to say was, "Hello Mary Lou!"

As great as the Walker exhibition was, Chuck re-focused on the target of their mission. He noticed on another monitor that Cheeks had made his way to the ground and was getting away. For the second time in minutes, Chuck didn't obey his handlers' instructions to 'Stay'.

Chuck exited the van and took off through the Center's kitchen and toward the emergency exit. He reached the door and teetered on the edge as his fear of heights overtook him. _Was it really a prerequisite to being a super spy that you had to jump off buildings? _His mind raced back to all of his vertical challenges over the last year and a half—Victor Federov, Mr. Colt, and Sasha Banacek—twice. There had to be a better way this time.

There was no way that he was going to even attempt the cat-like maneuver he had just seen the female member of Team Bartowski perform. He looked around him and saw the gun.

As he made it to the ground Casey looked up above him and said, "Watch out Bartowski's got a gun."

Agent Walker looked up momentarily and the guy in black in front of her gave her a swift punch to chin. Dazed momentarily, she remembered _eyes in front of you._ The guy took the opportunity to run across the scaffolding and leap back inside where the scaffolding connected to the building on a lower floor. Agent Walker gave chase back inside.

A couple levels up Chuck aimed the gun at the guy running after Casey and fired, well sort of. Instead of discharging a bullet, he unloaded it. The clip fell down the scaffolding making distinctive pinging noises as it continued its journey down to the ground.

"What is it with these things?" Chuck whined as he remembered back to the Marlin heist and his failed attempt to shoot the lock off the Weinerlicious freezer to release Sarah.

As if in unison with Casey, Chuck remarked, "I've really got to learn to use one of these." While Casey said, "Never let Chuck learn to use one of those."

"This is useless," Chuck said as he dropped the gun to the floor. He looked around at the building materials and supplies surrounding the emergency exit. And a brilliant, well, a different idea sprung in his head.

He knew that one day the mashed flat duct tape in his back pocket would come in handy. He grabbed a short piece of 2" PVC next to him, reached for the end nozzle of the air compressor, sliced the end of it with the Swiss-army knife from his nerd pack (aka his pocket protector) and then wrapped the duct tape around the pipe and hose securing the connection. He ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a fruit basket ready to figuratively try a real fruit basket turnover.

Chuck shoved a banana—peel and all down the PVC pipe. The Bartowski fruit basket bazooka was loaded and ready. "Let's try the old banana in the tail pipe," he joked. He picked up the pipe and turned on the compressor with his foot. The banana shot out pathetically only a couple of feet. Not enough pressure, he thought.

Chuck grabbed an orange and shoved it in the pipe. He aimed the jerry-rigged contraption at the guy that was tailing Casey and again turned on the machine. _WHOOOOSHHH!!! _

Casey instinctively turned back and ducked as he noticed a flying orange whiz by his head. The guy behind him stopped and aimed his gun at Casey as he motioned for the green-shirted NSA Agent to raise his hands. Casey complied.

"Oh No!" Chuck shouted. He grabbed another orange, loaded, and fired. Casey again heard the distinctive _WHOOOSHHH!!!_ as he noticed another projectile on its way. _This friendly fire is worse than Afghanistan,_ he thought. The bad guy turned but never saw it coming. All he felt was a _WHACK!_ to his face as the orange exploded sending the guy's nose straight into his skull leaving only a residue of orange sweetness.

Casey looked down at the guy on the ground and back up to Chuck, "Now that's what I call a drive by fruiting."

* * *

Agent Walker ran after the last man drawing her gun from behind her back waistband. She lost sight of him as he turned a corner. She slowed, halted at the edge of the hallway, and then peered around. The hallway was empty with the exception of several ladders, buckets, brushes, putty knives, and other painting implements. She looked down at the plastic tarps protecting the carpet; stealth was going to be a problem not only for the predator but also for her prey.

She heard plastic rustling in one of the rooms down the hall. With her gun extended in front of her she moved in a steady deliberate pace toward the noise checking each room, moving forward, and clearing her way. She noticed that the noise of movement in front of her stopped. Agent Walker peered around the doorway of what appeared to be an exercise room in the making. From the mirrored walls she saw the blur of something whiz by her and smash into a mirror in the room. It was a broken ceramic tile. She turned just in time to see another tile come at her and knock her gun away.

With full force, a body followed pushing her into the mirrored room and wedging her face-to-face between him and the step ladder behind her. A bucket on top of the ladder teetered. As Agent Walker struggled to get free of the man's grip around her throat, she grabbed an extension pole next to the ladder and forced the end of the pole down hard on the man's right foot. She planted her weight on her right foot, bent her left leg and kicked the side of his knee hard. _Bye bye meniscus_. The pain of his separated knee caused the man to let go of Agent Walker as he fell to the ground.

On his way down the man grabbed at the ladder and it crashed down with him. Agent Walker managed to avoid the ladder but not the bucket as it knocked her to the ground and sprayed its liquid contents all over her. She was covered from head-to-toe in spatters of blood red paint. She struggled to regain her vision as she wiped her burning eyes with the back of her hand and the collar of her jacket. As her eyes watered to clear the paint from her eyes, her vision began to return.

She noticed her enemy on the ground struggling to reach for something underneath him--her gun. As his fingers reached her gun, she grabbed at the only thing near her, a 1 ½" angled putty knife. He wrapped his hand around the trigger but before he could pull it free from under him, Agent Walker whipped forward with as much force as possible, and shoved the knife roughly straight up and into the guy's carotid artery. Suddenly, she wasn't the only one covered in paint as his neck spewed forth the red-hot liquid of life. His arm went slack. She rose up, moved his arm free with her foot and proceeded to knock away the gun.

Walker let out a deep breath of relief as she looked directly in front of her. In the mirrors opposite of her she hardly recognized the blood-red terror that was in front of her. She took off her jacket and attempted to wipe off her face with the clean underside of it. She refocused on herself in the mirror. Only that time, she noticed the red blinking light from the opposite corner of the room. As she turned toward the light and gazed into the surveillance camera that was attached to it she silently hoped that one specific person had not seen what had just transpired.

* * *

After the fruiting, Chuck ran back to the van and scanned the monitors for signs of the other member of Team Bartowski. He swiftly moved through the various surveillance feeds and found Sarah. She was covered in what looked like blood. The remaining bad guy was lying on the ground in obvious pain. He was down.

Chuck focused the monitor just in time to see her swiftly thrust the putty knife up and into the _unarmed _guy's neck. In horror, Chuck's jaw dropped in shock. _Not again. _

As Sarah stood up he saw on the wild watery look in her eyes. It was the same crazed look she had when she had gunned down Lt. Mauser. It was this same, almost evil, look that haunted his dreams.

Chuck sat stunned in the van. Would he ever get past this? Maybe he wasn't ready after all. Could he get past the real cost of his protection?

* * *

Through the blood-red paint spattered on the mirrored walls and all over herself, Agent Walker refocused and asked, "Casey, did you get Maury Cheeks?"

"No, he got away," he reluctantly admitted from outside the Center. "I'm cleaning the area right now; Bartowski sent this last guy a little high velocity Vitamin C to knock him down. Once I have him taken care of I'll take care of the other two by the scaffolding."

Sarah sighed in relief as she looked at herself in the mirrors. For once she was glad to hear that Chuck did not stay in the van. She was thankful that he didn't _see_ the violence that had just taken place in that room. He had seen so much violence in the time that he had been sent the Intersect. As important as it was to protect him from harm, she also wanted to shield him from seeing as much of it as possible. She was thankful that he had listened to her at Christmas_. She had shielded him from seeing her take down that Fulcrum agent. _And she held out hope that he hadn't seen what had just transpired. She knew how much the violence had changed her since she had joined the CIA—how it had numbed her. She didn't want Chuck to experience the deadened morality of a spy's life she thought as she continued to wipe off as much of the red paint as possible from her body.

"Chuck are you alright?" she asked but received no response. "Chuck?" she asked again.

"Yeah," he responded weakly.

"Can you meet me at the van?" Sarah responded as she slipped out the back and around to the van.

"Yeah."

"Casey, I'm covered from head-to-toe in paint, can you take care of one more?" Sarah deliberately asked specifically not mentioning the word 'body' as she knew Chuck was listening.

"Roger that, I've got a team on the way. What's the location?" Casey asked.

"On the second level, it's a mirrored exercise room. You can't miss it there's red paint everywhere," she responded.

"I'll meet you back at the castle at 0500 for a briefing with the General."

* * *

_It was a day of firsts,_ Chuck thought in cold silence as the drove the van back to Burbank. He had won a Scrabble tournament, may have seen a guy flash, face planted another guy with an orange, and now he was driving the van.

One experience was not a first though—he had seen Sarah kill another _unarmed_ man. Was this common place and he just didn't realize it? Was he that naïve to think that the price of national security--that the cost of his protection didn't involve such loathsome measures? He sighed. It was so hard to think about a time when he didn't dwell on such things and how much they had changed him and his view of the world. He didn't want to lose his idealism but on long days like this one it was hard not to feel it slipping away. He wanted to talk to her about what he saw but would she understand? Would she care? He looked up to the rearview mirror and glanced back at her. But he couldn't really look at her. Even with her hair pulled up and jacket off, she looked too much like _Carrie_ with all of the red-blood paint still on her. It was her appearance that had caused him to drive (in the remote chance that they might be recognized or detained in some other way).

He was thankful that he was driving because he had to physically focus on the road and not on her. He really needed to talk to her about it but it was just too fresh in his mind. What he really wanted was to lie down, to sleep, to get some real rest, and to forget about all of that had just happened. But he couldn't do any of those things.

He glanced back at Sarah again and noticed that she was carefully filling out some unknown paperwork. She noticed him look her in the rearview mirror and so she said, "Some off-site install, huh?"

"Yeah," he muttered. That was the third 'yeah' he had given her. He knew that whatever the next question was he was going to have to give something more in response or she'd start 'fishing' for answers -- questions and answers that they just didn't have the time to go into because he had to get back to the Buy More. But the mundane task of fixing computers at the Buy More would be a welcome relief at this point.

Chuck pulled around to the back of the Orange Orange to let Sarah get out with as little attention as possible. He knew that she could sense something was wrong but for some reason she didn't push him. All she said was, "I'll come by after I get cleaned up and after my briefing with the General."

"Okay," he said as he stared blankly forward.

"Oh, and don't forget this," Sarah said as she put his briefcase up front along with the BuyMore off-site installation paperwork.

Chuck looked at the paperwork for moment and noticed the signature,

_. . . . . . . . . . Katie O'Connell . . . . . . . . . ._

"Wait, who's Katie O'Connell?" Chuck asked.

"Oh, she was someone I used to know from Wisconsin," she half-smiled through the paint and continued, "Someone who would have liked to have been a semi-pro Scrabble Champion."

"Well maybe you could get this to her," Chuck said as he handled Sarah the trophy and said, "I think she earned it today."

* * *

Agent Walker fresh from scrubbing the remaining paint from her person sat down at the conference table in the Castle. She was as good as new in her Orange Orange finest when Casey arrived a few minutes before 5 o'clock.

General Beckman appeared on the screen in front of them.

"Major Casey. Agent Walker. What news do you have to report on this afternoon's mission?"

"General, we were able to determine the source of the leak—Maury Cheeks. Through our infiltration of the tournament we were able to determine that Cheeks has been using these Scrabble competitions as a smokescreen to deliver the encryption keys for the MQ-1 Predators and MQ-9 Reapers," Major Casey reported.

"The 432d wing at Creech Air Force Base in Indian Springs has confirmed that neither the Predators nor the Reapers were ever activated and so it seems as though your team was able to stop Cheeks from completing his treason," the General remarked.

"We still don't know who Cheeks was communicating with since none of the men who gave chase survived," Agent Walker responded.

"Well, at least you were able to secure Mr. Cheeks, I presume," the General assumed.

"No General, Cheeks got away, however, we have dispatched men to his residence. If we are unable to secure him before the next tournament, we believe infiltrating his employer--Roark Instruments—with an inside man, may assist us in securing Cheeks as well as determine how he is obtaining the codes in the first place," Major Casey responded and stopped.

"There's something else you should know General. It does not appear that Cheeks is aware that we have determined how he is passing the launch codes . . ." Agent Walker offered as she began the footage from the final round of the Scrabble Tournament.

"However, as you can see in this footage, something definitely spooked him." She watched Beckman react as she viewed the same footage they were seeing in the Castle – Cheeks' face contorting as his eyes lost focus, his jaw fell slack and he… _flashed_?

"Further, we believe," Walker continued, turning her head slightly to catch a matching, tense glance from Casey, "that there's a possibility that… at least we think that there could be . . ."

"Just tell her Walker," the Major interjected.

She gathered herself, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "General, we believe that Cheeks may have 'flashed' on Casey."

On the screen, Beckman's face changed from an expression of puzzlement to one of realization and finally to one of ire.

"Agent Walker, are you telling me that there may be another Intersect running around on the loose in Los Angeles and we don't know anything about it?"

* * *

**5:05 p.m.**

Jeff smiled in anticipation. Thanks to the strange-looking overgrown hobbit of a green-shirt named Fergie, Fernandez, or something like that, he had finally learned a secret that not even Morgan's beard held. He knew where Chuck went. For so long he had thought of Chuck as being 'much cooler' than everyone else that worked in BuyMoria. But now he knew Chuck's secret, he knew where Chuck went when he went 'nerd-slumming.' And all it cost him was a t-shirt and a front-row pass at Jeffster's next gig.

"Bartowski, where you been?" Big Mike asked from outside his door as Chuck made his way to the nerd herd technical support desk.

"Off site install," he responded.

_Oh yeah,_ Jeff grinned as Chuck set down his hard case and set his work order paperwork down in the 'in' box on the desk. But before Jeff could open his mouth, Chuck's main squeeze in the Orange Orange uniform walked into the Buy More. As usual, she positively glowed. She looked as though she had stepped straight out of a magazine. Jeff looked at the creepy Fernandino and grimaced. Jeff wondered why they couldn't hire babes like her to be the green-shirts rather than weirdoes like that guy, girl, or whatever 'it' was.

Chuck walked around the front of the desk to meet her. He noticed how refreshed she looked. There were no cuts, bruises, or signs of paint. He thought that the CIA must have some amazing paint remover as her hair was positively glistening. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek and that's when he noticed the remnant of something behind her ear.

"Hi, uhh Sweetie," Chuck responded. He knew right away what he needed to do. He wasn't a spy, but he definitely knew what this 'good spy' in front of him would want him to do to maintain their cover under the circumstances.

If anything, Sarah knew her asset and he was not one for PDA. Yet, he lingered in front of her longer than the customary cover kiss that had become part of their routine when she visited him at the Buy More. In her peripheral vision, she could see Jeff and several of Chuck's other strange co-workers looking at them. For the sake of their cover, she couldn't back away from him. She knew she was stuck there.

Chuck looked into her eyes and then her lips. She couldn't help but look longingly into his eyes. In her mind she thought back to when she taught him that a 'good spy knows what their mark wants.' She was confused, no intrigued, that after a day like today, that he was doing this. It didn't make sense. Was she the mark? Why here?

He brushed back her hair as he caressed her ear with his thumb; around the curl, over the top, and then gently down and back behind her ear. She caught her gasp realizing that this was no spy move, no cover move. She struggled to keep her focus as the sensations flooded in, threatening to paralyze her. The touch of his hand on her face, along her neck; his fingers curling behind her ear -- it was nearly overpowering. Her surprise and fascination with the question of what Chuck was doing wasn't helping -- she couldn't get her mind past it and found herself following along with the seduction, playing the part of the mesmerized target. She needed more time to think, but he was too far ahead of her and she was losing the fight to rein in her emotions. As he drew her in, at last, for a long showy kiss, she had just enough presence of mind left to be thankful that to outward appearances their cover was still probably intact. If not, well . . . she'd fix it later. Relinquishing everything else to future consideration, she closed her eyes and parted her lips in anticipation. And then she felt him gently scratch behind her ear.

Just as his lips touched hers he whispered, only loud enough for her to hear, "You had paint behind your ear."

Sarah's eyes popped open and fixed on his as her face broke into a smile of understanding. She felt a great sense of relief (_and disappointment_, she realized before hurriedly tucking that thought away). Chuck had saved their cover once again, in a way that she hadn't expected -- he really was starting to think like a spy. His one-time seduction instructor was fascinated in ways that couldn't put into thoughts or words. And judging from the gathered crowd, she wasn't the only one that was fascinated by their display—but, of course, the crowd's fascination was for very different reasons.

The crowd that had gathered was awestruck from the display from the coolest guy in the store and his lovely yogurt queen.

"Chuck really does have it all. First, it was the babe, then Missile Command World Champion, and now he's set his sights on the world," Jeff told the crowd of green-shirts.

"Wuh? What are you talking about Jeff?" Chuck questioned.

"We know your secret," Jeff slyly responded.

A sense of dread began to creep up from within the agent. Her mind raced back to her interrogation of the drunk. Why hadn't he said anything before? Apparently, it had been a mistake not to use the usual CIA interrogation tactics and now she was going to pay for her mistake. They all _knew _Chuck's secret. They _knew_ he was the Intersect.

And now, it was all over. She moved her hand toward her watch ready to alert Casey and activate an emergency lockdown of the whole store. As she looked wide-eyed at Chuck, she continued to arrange all of the necessary steps in her mind to get him to a secure location and fast. Agent Walker was ready to move. That was--until Jeff spoke again.

"What? You want me to spell it out?" he remarked.

"S-C-A-R-B-E-L-L"

Sarah's look of relief gave way to laughter as Jeff mistakenly 'misspelled' Chuck's secret.

"But don't worry, your secret is safe with us—for now that is!" Jeff gave a wicked smile to the couple.

* * *

**February 2, 2009**

_Your secret is safe with us._ Jeff's words had rung in his ears for the better part of a week.

But Chuck wasn't thinking about scrabble or even all the deadly Intersect secrets in his head. All he could think about were the secrets that Sarah was keeping from him.

Chuck and Sarah stood face-to-face by the fountain as they watched Tyler Martin leave the courtyard. He was so conflicted by his thoughts and emotions and his psyche was bearing the brunt of it.

He had thought he had put this all behind him after New Year's. But seeing her kill that man at the Scrabble tournament had brought all of his apprehensions painfully back to the forefront. He knew that she could sense his awkwardness around her but there always seemed to be a mission to focus on or worse someone around such that he had to keep up the cover charade of their relationship.

He hadn't had any real sleep for the better part of a week. When he shut his eyes, all he kept doing was flashing back to Sarah with a gun shooting Lt. Mauser or Sarah wielding a knife and shoving it deep into that guy's neck. In the last couple nights, his dreams had changed. She wasn't killing these bad guys in cold-blood. In his nightmares, she was killing _him!_

He had taken it upon himself not to delay this talk any longer. This secret was driving him slowly insane. He had to talk to her about it. The only problem was that that cheesy rock star, Tyler Martin, had a bad habit of getting in the way. He had to talk to her about it _now_ otherwise he'd never get past it. But he didn't know how to start the conversation.

As the pop star left the courtyard, Sarah lingered. She could tell that something had really been bothering him. It was time to talk to him. And if he didn't tell her now who knew if they'd ever get past whatever it was that had been steadily bothering him since Christmas.

She looked at him earnestly and asked, "Look, if there is something bothering you then please tell me, I know part of your job is to have all these secrets in your head . . . but you're not supposed to keep them from me."

He couldn't help but think about the irony of her last sentence. In their failure to communicate they had _both_ kept secrets from one another. She had always wanted him to trust her but had drawn the line at belief. On the other hand, he couldn't understand the nuance in her distinction. He wanted both—trust and belief.

"Yeah, I know, I know," his voice trailed off as she continued to wait on him to be honest and to tell her what was on his mind.

The silence of the moment was almost unbearable. He looked back at her and swallowed hard. He really wanted to believe in her but he knew that he couldn't if he wasn't honest himself with her in that moment. And so he couldn't help but let the truth of what he saw spill out. "I saw you shoot that Fulcrum agent on Christmas Eve. After they took over the Buy More and when I asked you about it . . ."

"I lied," she admitted breaking his eye contact. She couldn't look at him; her guilt shown through in this small but significant gesture.

"Chuck I have to protect you," she said trying to rationalize her actions.

"I know that," he started and stepped forward closer to her. He had to get it off of his chest and at the same time he needed an explanation, a reason, something to explain 'Why?' she had done what she did. He continued, "I know that you do. You were protecting me, you protecting all of us, he threatened my family, my friends, and you were just doing your job, I get that. . . ."

It was hard for her to hear all of these things but she knew he was right. Everything he said was true. But it was the next statement that he made that really hit home.

". . . but Sarah the guy was unarmed and you just. . ."

"I did what I had to do. He knew who you really were. Your whole family was in danger, and I'm sorry," she apologized sincerely but then she changed the subject, "sometimes I forget that you never asked for all of this." In doing so, she responded while not really responding at all.

This time it was Chuck that broke his eye contact. He knew that was all she was going to give him and still he didn't know if it was truly enough. He sadly looked down as his voice trailed off to some other place, "There are parts I'm not sure I'll ever get used to. . . ."

She swallowed deliberately at his statement. She looked down as she struggled for the words to respond and then they came. "Well, you deserve a break so take tonight, tomorrow, whatever you need, it's yours."

"Seriously? Really?" Chuck couldn't believe what she was saying but before the full import of her statement really set in she continued.

"Yeah, no missions, no cameras, no Casey…" she searched for all the things she thought were causing him stress – and as she got to the bottom of the list she knew, instinctively, what the last item had to be, "…no thermal satellite surveillance, and no _me_." Sarah made sure to keep a neutral expression on her face as she said the last item on her list, but her eyes watched attentively for his reaction. Would he contradict her? Tell her he didn't need time away from her? Or would he _accept_ her statement at face value, confirming her worst fears that she had become just one more part of a spy existence that he wanted nothing to do with?

"You guys use satellites?" Chuck kidded weakly. Even subconsciously he wasn't prepared to respond to a life without her. So he involuntarily hung onto the comment she made just before and verbalized it. Still, that part within him knew that it wasn't the lack of satellites that terrified him. He could do without the satellites. She was the one thing that he didn't want to do without. And she was still the thing that had so distressed him all of these weeks since Christmas.

Inwardly, Sarah sighed, part thankful and part disappointed that Chuck had not taken her bait. She smiled at his question. "Yeah. And Chuck when you are ready again we'll be waiting," she responded, more out of hope for a future, any future with him. She hoped that he would be ready _for her_ again someday.

As Chuck was thinking about her offer, Casey walked out with two duffel bags of gear and handed one of them to Sarah.

"Hey what's this, what's going on?" Chuck asked.

"Lock and load," the Major responded.

"A new mission, we'll see you tomorrow," Sarah said as she took the bag of gear from Casey.

"Wait, a new mission? What kind of mission?" Chuck asked as Casey mock saluted him on their way out of the courtyard.

"It's fine, Chuck, we got it." Sarah smiled as she exited with Casey.

"What kind of mission?" Chuck asked again, this time to himself. As he watched the retreating backs of Casey and Sarah, he realized that something wasn't right. Sarah's open-ended offer to take as much time as he needed – away from the missions, cameras, Casey and even _her_ should have brought him relief but it didn't. Suddenly things didn't just seem different; they _were_ different. Although he had not asked for the Intersect; he had not asked for the life of a spy; he had not asked to be a government asset – he _was_ being offered a choice. And the way he felt right now… He couldn't deny how the missions, their team, and yes, _she_ had become so important to him. The things that he had dreaded doing only moments before, he already missed.

With a resigned grin, he recognized the irony in his situation. He'd fought so long for what he thought he wanted and when he'd finally gotten it, it turned out to be hollow and unappealing. He recognized that what he really needed, he'd already had. So yes, he was being given a choice. But as it turned out, the choice was simple and his decision was much easier than he would have ever expected.

Chuck ran after them and jumped into the back of Casey's 1985 Crown Victoria. Sarah turned and stared blankly at him, then to Casey, and back to Chuck as her jaw dropped ever so slightly. _What was he doing?_ She'd just expended no small amount of effort convincing General Beckman to let Chuck have a few days of down time. _Isn't that what he wanted?_ _Had she misread his true feelings - again?_

"Hey guys, where we going?" he asked as he looked at both Casey and then Sarah.

She met Chuck's eyes then and appraised them for intention. _What are you doing?_ She asked in her silent stare. And in his returning gaze, she saw the truth – he really wanted to be here, it _wasn't_ an act. He chose to be with them . . . with _her_. She took in a breath, accepting his decision and trying to still the growing swell of warmth in her heart – and shifted her focus to Casey.

"Well come on Casey, there's no time for a break! We've got work to do!" Chuck taunted with a lifted spirit.

Sarah turned away from both of them to hide the pleased smile she could not suppress. Whether he wanted the missions, the cameras, Casey, the satellites, any of it was of no import to her at that moment. Because Sarah Walker knew that when it had come right down to it – when he'd had to choose between a few days of his old existence and the harsh new realities of the spy world he had chosen the spy world. And on some level she knew that _she_ had been a big part of his decision. _Maybe there was hope_, she thought. Maybe they _could_ have a future together – something more than what their current circumstances would allow. More than she had dared to hold out any hope for. _Together_.

Even though Sarah had turned away, Chuck caught her retreating smile and he knew that he'd pleased her. He returned a satisfied smile to her, but she never turned back to catch it. _How was this so easy? Why couldn't they have talked about this a month ago? Do all conversations started by Sarah Walker end up this way?_ He turned his attention back to Casey, his question still hanging in the air after several seconds had gone by.

"As long as it's not scrabble," the Major grunted as the pulled out of the parking lot.

"What, you don't want me to 'spell it' out for you?" the nerd asked, a sardonic expression on his face.

* * *

**2/9/09 BuyMore**

Spelling it out to Jeff had been the smartest thing Fernando had ever done. Before that day a few weeks ago he didn't know if he'd ever have had the nerve to approach his idol. But the reward had definitely exceeded the risk. Fernando was on the front row of Jeffster's gig at the BuyMore! Jeffster rocks! They were so much cooler than that Tyler Martin phony. Plus he knew the band! He had on his new Jeffster t-shirt and they were singing his favorite song--_Africa_ by Toto. It was just like Morgan said, _'Things couldn't get any better than this._' Well, maybe if that girl from the kegger came back. Until then, there was always (1) Jeffster; (2) Scrabble; and (3) BuyMoria. As long as he had those things, Fernando's world was complete. He mouthed the words along with the band:

_. . . . . . . . . . __It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you__. . . . . . . . . .__  
__. . . . . . . . . . __There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do__. . . . . . . . . .__  
__. . . . . . . . . . __I bless the rains down in [BuyMoria]__ . . . . . . . . . .__  
__. . . . . . . . . . __Gonna take some time to do the things we never had__. . . . . . . . . ._

As his favorite band sang his favorite song in his favorite land, Fernando couldn't think of a better way to spell out a perfect day.

* * *

**[Has Chuck gone to the dogs? Where's Anna? And will Chuck ever flash in **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man**_**? All these questions and more will be answered in Chapter 10—Man's Best Friend is a Dog in Heat].**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! I'm notorious for putting your awesome ideas to work in this story. Plus, if you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**

**[To all my interactive reader pals: The pink iPod is coming back soon so here's your chance to weigh-in on songs that Chuck would have added to his 'Sarah iPod' since New Year's Eve through to the end of Chuck v. The Predator. Your lovely suggestions of songs that Chuck would think would reflect their relationship during this timeframe are welcomed! If you'd like a copy of the complete playlist as it now exists, send me a PM!] **


	10. Man's Best Friend Is A Dog In Heat part1

**Chuck v The Burning Man**

**Thanks Aardvark7734 — you're the best beta ever!**

**A special word of thanks to Poa and BillAtWork – You two have a special place in this truthseekr's heart. Also, thanks to those who took a moment to let me know what you thought about Ch.9: Lucky 713, jagged1, jessclifton, and tshdow – I can't tell you how much you mean to me! **

**Don't forget to stay tuned! This 4-part installment will be updated throughout the week. Hopefully it will keep your dogs barking and your tails wagging!**

**Special Note: The second scene below references a bathroom event which occurred in ch.5 of **_**Chuck v. The Twilight Zone**_**. It's not necessary to read but it may provide additional context.**

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* * *

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**Chapter 10— Man's Best Friend is a Dog in Heat –- part 1**

2/7/09

Sarah was alone, straightening the tables inside the Orange Orange. Adrift in the tedious ritual, her mind wandered back to a moment she shared with Chuck a couple days ago – the Jeff and Lester karaoke show at the Buy More. What were the words to that song 'Jeffster' sang? The words that came after Chuck told her she did, in fact, have someone in her life that cared about her? She _knew_ the words. She kept hearing them in her head:

_. . . . . . . . . . It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you_

_. . . . . . . . . . There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do_

_. . . . . . . . . . I bless the rains down in Africa_

_. . . . . . . . . . Gonna take some time to do the things we never had_

Sarah had been to Africa – three times. Truth was she'd been all over the world and seen so many things, but the 'travel' was never quite what it was cracked up to be. Seeing Red Square under the winter white nights of Moscow wasn't nearly as romantic with Russian crime bosses groping you. The Columbian rainforests weren't all that picturesque with drug lords hot on your trail. And her last 'blessing' in Africa, didn't turn out as beautiful as the conflict diamonds she secured there (due to the price that many innocents had paid in the black market weapons trade). These trips often left her feeling cold, hollow, and numb -- so much so that she never thought about the cost to herself, to her soul. She sacrificed so much of herself that she rarely even thought about what she wanted. After all, her life was irrelevant, but her duty to protect something greater than herself was not.

As she absent-mindedly finished wiping down the tables, her thoughts moved from the African blood diamonds of her past to a diamond procured much more recently. She remembered Carina asking her, 'How do you stand it?' (meaning the 'boring' life she led here). Sarah smiled as she thought back to her response and then something remarkable surfaced – _her feelings_. She had told Carina, 'I'm good here.' And she was. She really _was_ good here. Agent Walker had realized something during her duties protecting the Intersect. She didn't long for the 'travel' associated with a spy's life. She yearned for something else.

Sarah moved over to the counter and began to wipe it down methodically in counter-clockwise circles. She thought back to that song from earlier in the week. She wasn't much for music; she'd never really had any time for it since she joined the CIA. But that was before her current assignment. Sarah smiled and paused for a moment as she thought about the pink iPod that graced his nightstand. She silently wondered what songs he'd added about her since New Year's Eve, the Scrabble Tournament, the Tyler Martin gig, and their most recent run-in with Triad.

Being a music lover's handler for the last year and a half, she had learned a thing or two about the Indie music for which he raved. She knew that the karaoke cheese of 'Jeffster' firmly didn't fit in that or any other genre. But still, she recognized that every song had a message, a meaning . . . _significance_. The same was true of that Jeffster cover.

Sarah knew that the song really wasn't about Africa at all. It was about making a choice to do the important things in life, the things that were never had – the things that shouldn't wait. She thought back to the adventures she and Chuck had shared in the past two years. There had been great moments in between their numerous missions: their second date, the night he received his degree from Stanford, and even the afternoon they shared a cheeseburger after her high school reunion. She remembered to add another to the growing list – the unspoken moment in the Buy More while Lester sang – when Chuck's fingers intertwined perfectly in hers. It was a private moment, so innocuous that no one noticed. There was no cover purpose in this gesture. It was something real between them. Of all the countless public displays of affection they shared at that electronics store for the sake of their cover, this one hidden gesture was the first one that was purely between them.

As much as she came to relish these private moments, she couldn't help but be conflicted by them at the same time. Her connection with Chuck was clearly evolving into something else. And the career spy wasn't sure if she was prepared to see this change to its logical end. She was prepared to do at least one thing for him though.

After their talk by the fountain two weeks ago, she made the decision to be honest with him. She wouldn't volunteer her entire life's history (that still wasn't his business), but she wasn't going to lie to him on a mission about the real cost of his protection. She recognized that for someone outside the spy realm, this distinction might seem disingenuous, but for career field agent Sarah Walker, this step was significant. She recognized that it might affect the way he felt about her. But she remembered that he had chosen to get in the Crown Vic with her that night and in doing so he had chosen to continue in the spy world. At least for _now_. And if he was ever going to be more than an asset, this step was necessary to fully make him part of the team – the team that was named after him.

It hadn't been easy for Agent Walker to come to this conclusion. She recognized that it was so much simpler in the early days of their cover relationship to tell him what he wanted to hear and then let him draw his own conclusions. But, she couldn't manipulate him in that way anymore. She looked down at her wrist and smiled. In a strange way, their dealing with her lie on Christmas Eve actually turned out to be more of a break-through in their real relationship (such as it was) than the heirloom she wore on her wrist. She continued to wipe round and round as the charm bracelet clinked every so often on counter.

She had no regrets about killing that Fulcrum agent, the men passing off the Predator codes at the Scrabble tournament, or even the people who terrorized Tyler Martin. She understood her ultimate duty was to protect the Intersect at all costs. But when Sarah saw the red and white nerd herder explode in a tremendous fireball – with Chuck presumed to be inside, she realized something else. Amidst the hammer blows of her heart and the indescribable grief came deep feelings of regret and sorrow. For a life with Chuck she hadn't lived. For things they never had.

She sighed and let out a deep breath when she flipped the towel over and moved on to the clear display over the frozen treats. She noticed herself in the glass as she polished it. Upon reflection, she wished she could have been more sensitive to Chuck's conflict in betraying his friend Morgan just days earlier. She stopped wiping and stared blankly into the empty space of the yogurt shop, remembering the cold words that had pierced through her like a knife: 'Morgan would be there long after she was gone'. _After she was gone._

She looked back at the display and could no longer see herself through the frosted over glass. She silently began to wipe the display again. As it cleared, she remembered Chuck's transparency was something she admired most about him. Whatever this thing was between them, there would be no more deception.

She was earnest in her apology to him that day at the Buy More, but something within her fished for something else. For his . . . reassurance? If that was it, her honesty had paid dividends – he'd told her that he cared for her. She knew that once upon a time this had been the case. It had been so easy to see it then. As the weeks had passed, however, she had allowed her insecurity to get the best of her. It made her wonder, _Had something changed between them?_

But that afternoon in the Buy More, she finally realized the barriers between them were not insurmountable and the two of them were becoming closer in spite of them. It was the strength of their connection and the possible loss of that bond that scared her.

She refocused her efforts on the counter. As she began wiping it in clockwise circles she thought about the words:

_. . . . . . . . . . It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you _

A year ago she was prepared to take extraordinary measures to keep him there. She was ready to pull her gun on another government agent to ensure that Chuck was not taken to an underground bunker _away from her_. And a lot had happened between them since then. Still, the Agent within reminded her that she clung to the hope of a future that could never be. But the girl inside responded immediately: _If there is no future, why not live in the moment?_ She already knew the answer. It was always the same one.

She sighed and stopped wiping the counter. If she went over there and talked to him, really talked to him, she would earn herself an immediate plane ticket out of LAX never to see him again – this was something she could not bear. She knew that their relationship (such as it was) was figuratively stuck on the taxiway and it would never be cleared by Beckman or any other DNI brass. So she remained in a holding pattern, hoping for a future of something great that they may never be allowed to have.

Sarah resumed wiping the counter in clockwise circles as time silently moved forward. She wanted a future with him, but truth be told she wanted that future to start _right_ _now_. Almost exactly on cue, the familiar ring of the small bell attached to the top of the customer entrance snapped her out of her reverie. There he was. She looked up at Chuck briefly and smiled as he approached her at the counter. She didn't want to give away that she had just spent the better part of her cleaning routine thinking about him so she continued to wear the counter down in the same circles.

"Wax on, wax off, eh?" he kidded.

She gave him a half-grin even if she didn't get his joke.

"Uh, . . . so I don't think I ever thanked you for our little side mission at the auto show," he spouted off.

Sarah gave him a quizzical look as she set her towel aside.

"You know, when you talked to Anna about comparing other guys to a former boyfriend and that meant that there was something still there?"

"Oh that, . . . well, you're welcome," she smiled with a sure head nod.

"Is that why you came over here?" If she knew anything about Chuck Bartowski it was that he rarely began conversations with the actual thing he wanted to talk to her about.

"Well yes and no. Um . . . see now that Morgan and Anna are back together, and Anna thinks you are her new BFF, they want to do the whole double-date come over and watch a movie with us . . . "

"I see. Okay." She accepted before he finished stating his case.

". . . so I know that it won't be the best time and all and you can say . . . wait you didn't?" Chuck had expected a rejection or at least some sort of protest but strangely he got none.

Instead, she just stood there with a half-grin. An awkward silence crept between them so much so that Chuck couldn't stand it, he had to say something.

"Okay. . . . well, my best friend may be Morgan, but you know man's best friend is. . ." Chuck held up the DVD – _Best in Show_.

"Wait, let me see that," she responded as she snatched the DVD out of his hands. He stood there expectantly almost in a trance watching her lips move as she silently read the description on the back – that was until she looked up and caught him staring at her. He realized his error and quickly shifted his focus to the DVD case. She grinned in response as she put the case down and asked, "What is it with you and animal movies?"

He feigned a look of protest but then he realized she had a point. What once began with _March of the Penguins_ gave way to _Babe_, _Born Free_, _The Truth About Cats & Dogs_, _Eight Below_, _Seabiscuit_, and even _White Fang_. He hadn't realized that there was a method to his madness but that penguin movie was only the first in a long succession of animal films that they had watched on numerous cover dates at his apartment.

With the best charm he could muster he looked at her and offered, "But, this one's a classic. You'll see . . ." His tone suggested that his comment was more of a lingering question of 'Will you come?' than anything else.

"Okay. . . as long as one day we're not going to watch something weird like a cat from outer space, or some giant free wheeling killer whale, or perhaps some movie about a planet full of apes," she kidded.

"Wow . . ." his voice trailed off into the distance and then snapped back, "Strangely, those are all films. . . but I give you the Bartowski promise that I will _never_ make you watch any of those movies," Chuck said earnestly.

She grinned back at him. "Alright, I'll see you tonight."

"Okay!" he said with a triumphant grin. _Mission accomplished. _He turned around to head back to the Buy More.

As he made it to the door, he turned back to her with a huge goofy smile and asked, "So just to be clear . . . you're gonna help me re-friend my best friend and his girl friend while watching a movie about man's best friend as my cover girlfriend?"

He just managed to yank the door shut as the hurtling towel smacked off the other side with a loud '_THUNK_'. He looked back through the blinds on the door and couldn't help but grin when he saw the satisfied smile on the face of his 'cover girlfriend'.

* * *

A couple of hours or so later . . . Echo Park, CA

Chuck's cover girlfriend arrived early to help him set up before his best friend arrived. While setting down a couple drinks on the coffee table, Sarah heard a knock at the door.

"I got it," she said to Chuck who was still in the kitchen getting the popcorn.

Sarah opened the door and was greeted by Chuck's bearded friend along with his on-again girlfriend. They were arm-in-arm both sporting impish grins. The spy in Agent Walker noticed that Anna had freshly re-applied her lipstick and that her hair was more ruffled than normal. Morgan, on the other hand, had a visible red mark that trailed under his shirt collar.

"Hey Sarah! Are you ready for another 'Evening with Morgan . . . _and Anna_'?" the little man happily exclaimed.

"Of course, Morgan. Come on in," she smiled politely and welcomed them inside.

"But no sizzling shrimp, _Enter the Dragon_, or fireworks this time," he pointed out with a slight pout.

"Well, I think we can take care of the fireworks ourselves, don't you?" Anna said with a mischievous grin to the man-boy beside her. Morgan's pout quickly gave way to a greedy ogle.

Sarah gave a fake laugh and looked back to Chuck with widened eyes.

Chuck caught Sarah's cue and knew it was time for him to step in. He had purposely failed to mention to her that since those two were back together they had been at it like rabbits. Chuck was glad that his little buddy was happy but still he had to remind himself to stay away from the break room, home theater room, storage cage, and loading docks — all places he later regretted running into them while they were 'making out'.

Well at least they'd behave themselves at his apartment tonight, or so he thought.

"Popcorn anyone?" The inflection in Chuck's voice was an unmistakable attempt to change the subject. He came over to them with a giant bowl of the popped stuff as well as a couple drinks.

"Here, let me help you," Sarah responded with some relief that Chuck had deflected Anna's sexual overture. Sarah went back to the kitchen and brought the napkins and other snacks to the living room as the others sat down in front of the television.

"So it's just us tonight, my man?" Morgan asked Chuck.

"What he means is, is Ellie here?" Anna miffed. Apparently, the Asian vixen still had some insecurity due to her boyfriend's unnatural fascination with the eldest Bartowski sibling.

Chuck and Sarah looked at one another as if they were channeling the same thought -- _Some things never change_.

"No, both she and Devon are on night rotations this week." Chuck responded.

"Ah, so Ellie's putting on the night moves? Awesome." Morgan stammered before thinking.

The women in the room looked back at him wide-eyed. His best friend felt compelled to save the bearded man from himself once again and so Chuck responded, "Yeah, that's right _with Captain _Awesome."

The smaller girl in the room settled back into the arms of the man-boy with whom she arrived.

"I guess I'll put in the movie." Chuck put the DVD in and the menu appeared on the screen to reveal to the shorter and more openly affectionate couple—_Best in Show_.

"Excellent choice Chuck. I love mockumentaries!" Morgan spouted off putting his arm around Anna.

"Mockumentary?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah, it's like a fake story, it's not real, I told you you'd love it," Chuck said without thinking. She recognized the depth of his statement and couldn't help but frown slightly, not that he noticed.

"Yeah, but that lawyer couple is seriously disturbing, I mean their dog has to go to therapy after seeing them get it on? I mean that's just crazy," Morgan said.

"Good thing Chico likes you," Anna mentioned her pet by name while she snuggled closer in Morgan's arms.

"Am I going to have to get you two a room?" Chuck joked _sort of_. But from the naughty grins he got in return he knew that it was only a matter of time that they would, in fact, need a room.

"So I'm the only one that hasn't seen this movie?" Sarah asked attempting to steer the conversation back to the movie.

"That's okay Sarah, after tonight you'll be another step forward in your ever increasing perfection as the future Mrs. Chuck Bartowski," Morgan exclaimed.

In unison, both a mortified Chuck and a smiling Anna spouted off, "_Morgan!"_

Anna continued, "That was so sweet!" She nuzzled her head under Morgan's neck.

Sarah knew that she had to respond in some way. So she did what any good _real_ girlfriend would, she wrapped her arm around Chuck's, gave him a peck on the cheek and most importantly, she changed the subject _again_.

"Okay, so what's this movie really about?" she asked giving Chuck a reassuring smile.

"Oh . . . there are these dog show couples. And their dogs all have personalities similar to their owners," Chuck answered as the opening credits ran.

Both Sarah and Chuck sat on the couch next to each other while they tried to keep their eyes on the movie. It wasn't necessarily that their minds were elsewhere but they were specifically trying to keep their eyes away from the animal magnetism to the right of them as Morgan and Anna were practically sitting on top of one another in the loveseat. At one point, Sarah caught Chuck putting his hand up to his forehead in an effort to further shield his eyes and block the action to the right of him.

Chuck gave a sideways glance to Sarah and noticed her looking back at him. He turned slightly, held her gaze and mouthed, '_I'm so sorry_'.

She looked back at him and mouthed, '_It's okay_.' And then she leaned her head on his shoulder, in part to block her view of the MorgAnna show but on another level because it just seemed natural. Her agent side would rationalize that this was just part of their cover, but Sarah knew why she did it and it had nothing to do with their cover. Whether she was ready to openly admit it or not she liked being close to him -- he made her feel _warm_ inside. It was a level of comfort that this trained assassin knew was dangerous and yet, she was finding that her feelings were becoming increasingly hard to hold back. Before she could carry those thoughts further she was distracted by the other girl's voice in the room.

"I'm going to go _freshen_ _up_," the Asian sex kitten said seductively as she broke apart from Morgan and sauntered past the other couple in the living room. Morgan gawked at her. From behind the couch, Anna gave him 'the look' and motioned with her index finger to 'come hither'. It was all the encouragement that the little man-boy needed.

"Anyone want some fresh passion . . . fruit or perhaps a grape soda?" Morgan asked rounding the couch without waiting for a response.

"No buddy, we're fine," Chuck's voice trailed off as he noticed that his friend had conveniently 'forgotten' to stop at the kitchen as he made a beeline for the bathroom following Anna inside. Neither Chuck nor the agent beside him missed the seduction that had just played out in front of them.

Sarah raised her head up and looked at Chuck. He rolled his eyes and groaned resting his head on the back of the couch while he stared at the ceiling. She couldn't help but empathize. Her mouth parted slightly as if to say something, anything, but no words came out. As she considered what to say, she stared at the Adams apple in his neck as he swallowed hard twice. She traced it with her eyes up to his chin and mouth as he dropped his jaw and let out a deep sigh. And then her gaze moved up to his eyes. The chocolate brown of them stared above him in what was clearly frustration. She studied the way they interacted with his eyebrows and his furrowed forehead. She wished she could protect him and alleviate the frustration she found there, but that would be impossible. On some level, she was probably the source of it.

He turned his head toward her while still resting it on the couch. This time he caught her looking at him. But instead of turning away, his eyes softened. He held her stare for an uncomfortably long moment – uncomfortable only because it was just too comfortable. She bit the bottom of her lip as she started to think about all the things she could do to him and _for him_. Lost in his eyes, she could feel her heart race with the realization that they were finally alone. The voice within her was channeling that song not to wait, to do the things that she never had.

Wait, _alone_? Suddenly, the agent in her called her back to reality. She remembered what Chuck had just been looking up at – they were never alone. She broke his gaze and looked up at the smoke detector on the ceiling. His eyes followed hers up and then the frustrated look returned only this time with an added frown. As if by rote memory they separated since there was 'no need to continue the charade' of being a couple.

"I'm going to get some water would you like anything?" Sarah stood up in order to increase the distance between them.

"Sure," he responded staying put on the couch. He didn't really need a glass of water. A cold shower might help but unfortunately that wasn't an option at the moment.

As Sarah walked back to the kitchen, Chuck, still hot and bothered, attempted to provide a little levity for his own sake, "What is it with that bathroom?"

Sarah opened the refrigerator to grab a couple of bottles of water and Chuck continued his nervous chatter as a sidetrack to the moment that had just transpired between them.

"And it's not just the two of them," he motioned back to whatever it was that was taking place in the back half of his apartment. "I walked in on my sister and Awesome sudsing it up back in the fall, _ICK!!!_" Chuck shivered as if he had the willies, ". . . and then there was . . . you know . . . _Christmas_." His voice cracked a bit when he referred to the kiss they once shared while he was shaving in the bathroom.

Sarah's eyes widened as she hovered over the open refrigerator door. The last bathroom rendezvous he mentioned had only been a _cover_ kiss, she told herself. Awesome walked in on them in the bathroom on Christmas morning while they were talking. She acted fast to 'protect their cover'. It was one of those classic jaw-dropping showy kisses that often had the effect of garnering 'get a room' comments from onlookers. What she didn't realize in her reflection back to that holiday highlight was that she had completely forgotten about the bottles she was currently holding. And so, the plastic water bottles dropped to the kitchen floor with successive: '_THUD THUD'._

"You alright?" Chuck asked from back on the couch in the living room.

"I'm fine. I just dropped the water, its fine. Good thing they're plastic," she responded. Sarah picked up the bottles and set them on the counter. Before she shut the refrigerator for good she considered opening and shutting it a couple times to help her cool off. She even chastised herself under her breath for the slip a few moments ago. Sarah was resolved to get the situation under control.

As she walked back into the living room she surveyed and considered all of the possible seating arrangements available to her. She could sit to the right of him on the love seat which had been occupied by Morgan and Anna—that would be a safe bet for keeping her emotions in check. She could resume sitting in the middle of the couch where she previously sat for 'cover purposes'—admittedly, not a good idea at the moment. Then there was the other end of the couch—perfect. She set down his water on the coffee table and plopped down on the other end of the couch. Sarah then opened the bottle and took a long cold drink from it.

"Thanks. Look, I'm really sorry about this," Chuck sighed realizing the increased distance between them.

"It's okay." Sarah already missed the warmth of sitting next to him but she just didn't think she could trust herself after what she felt in a matter of only seconds of only looking into his eyes. _Good grief. _With that thought, she caught herself doing it _again_ but this time she was able to stop.

"No, now you're going to be stuck here," Chuck responded noticing that she had turned back to the movie.

"Really it's okay," Sarah answered looking straight ahead. She glanced back at him momentarily when he added, "I mean how long could they be in there?"

Neither one of them wanted to touch that question. "Rhetorical question, purely rhetorical . . . I don't want to know, you don't want to know, and god bless him, our friendly RoboCop next door definitely doesn't want to know," Chuck joked as he looked up at the smoke detector.

Sarah's grin gave way to a laugh which Chuck shared with her. It was exactly the kind of comment from him that she had come to rely on to lighten the mood in moments such as these.

"Well, the evening's not a total loss. You're getting in some good character study here by watching this movie," Chuck offered.

"What?" She didn't understand.

"Oh come on, we've had missions at the arcade on Santa Monica Pier, Missile Command exhibitions, shoot outs at the fairgrounds, the opera house, the Glendale Scrabble tournament . . . You can't convince me that a mission to the Westminister Dog Show is not within the realm of possibilities for Team Bartowski," Chuck kidded.

She raised her brows with a smirk.

"I mean anything is possible," Chuck added.

Sarah smiled and responded matter-of-factly, "I have to admit that anything is possible with you." She looked straight into his eyes with a small purposeful grin to make sure that he understood and recognized her affirmation.

* * *

**[What ever happened to Chuck's dog Peaches? Has Team Bartowski gone to the dogs? And will Morgan and Anna ever get out of that bathroom? All of these questions and more will be answered in the next part of Chapter 10 in **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man**_**]**

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**


	11. Man's Best Friend Is A Dog In Heat part2

**Chuck v The Burning Man**

**Thanks Aardvark7734 — you're the best beta ever! **

**And your techno-babble is an inspiration!**

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**Now all you Chuckster fans: Are you ready to take the quiz? **

**Let's get those tails a waggin' cause Part 2 of **_**Man's Best Friend Is A Dog In Heat**_** is coming up right after this word from my sponsor:**

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**Now back to our regularly scheduled program already in progress . . . **

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****Chapter 11— Man's Best Friend is a Dog in Heat – part 2**

2/7/09 -- Somewhere outside of Parran, NV

The possibilities are endless, Steve thought as he silently examined the machine in front of him on his worktable. The only sounds for miles came from the coyotes howling in the dark night which engulfed the hills surrounding his '66 Airstream Overlander. When he first moved to this site it had been unsettling to hear their nightly cries. But in the 13 years that he had camped there, he had come to appreciate that these wild dogs were the perfect audible alarm for anything or anyone that came within 500 yards of his place. In that way, those coyotes were not unlike that yappy dog Peaches he used to have that stood watch at their backdoor. Poor Peaches would bark at anything that moved outside at night.

Steve had gotten that dog for Chuck when he turned 11. Chuck's big heart had taken an emotional beating that year when his mom left them. Steve thought that the companionship and love of dog might help the boy adjust and get through his heartache. He remembered that Chuck had initially wanted a Golden Retriever – that was until a Springer Spaniel that Chuck later named 'Peaches' ran right up to them at the Hartford Humane Society's annual adopt-a-dog drive. The connection was immediate and the two of them were practically inseparable. That dog loved everybody. Peaches was endearing, eager to please, intelligent, and excitable all in that order – not unlike the boy who loved him. Steve remembered that it was the excitable part that made him a good watch dog in the night but sadly that trait also led to his ultimate demise.

Steve remembered back to that fateful day he had given Eleanor a driving lesson while Chuck was gone away at band camp. She had just turned 15 and so they decided to take the old Family Truckster out for a spin around the block. Ellie took every safeguard. She adjusted the seat and mirrors with precision. She looked behind her when she backed out of the driveway. She even applied the correct amount of foot pressure to the gas and to the brake when appropriate. But none of these necessary steps prevented what ended up steering Ellie away from driving for the better part of a year.

Peaches had somehow gotten out of their backyard. Like his young master, the dog just couldn't stand to be alone and so it tore off through the neighborhood trying to find the pea green Truckster and the family members that were within it. Peaches cut through yards and patios and decks and porches, through fences and even tore through a kiddie pool or two. As the dog barreled through one yard and into a side street he noticed all too late that he'd found his family. The Bartowski dog ran out in front of the Truckster and the teen driver within it was unable to hit the brakes in time to stop the car, gravely injuring Peaches.

Back in the present, Steve leaned back from his worktable and silently listened to the wild dogs' cry outside. He still remembered the sound of Peaches' awful cry during that afternoon long ago. Ellie had insisted on going with him as Steve rushed the station wagon to the vet. She tried to comfort Peaches by gently cradling the broken dog in the back of the wagon. Even after the vet confirmed that there was nothing either of them could do, she stayed with Peaches until he finally closed his eyes never to open them again. Steve thought back to how strong Eleanor was that day. He knew that it was a lot for even his well-adjusted 15 year-old daughter to take. She had to deal with the guilt of mortally wounding her brother's dog and then the grief in knowing that Chuck was going have to deal with yet another heart ache. As much as they had all cared for the dog, Steve knew his son wouldn't be able to take another emotional beating.

His daughter's dejected look on the following morning still burned in his memory. And so he had made a few calls and went out for a while. When he returned his daughter still had the same crestfallen stare – that was until he opened the car door and out popped a new four-legged bundle of energy. Steve could still remember Eleanor's exclamation, "Wow, he even looks like Peaches too!" And so that's what Steve and Eleanor secretly knew him as – 'Peaches 2'. Of course to Chuck, he was the same old Peaches that he had loved with that big heart of his and he was never the wiser.

Steve knew that it had been hard on Eleanor to keep this secret from her brother. But he also knew that his precocious daughter understood that the cost to protect Chuck from this potential hurt vastly outweighed the truth of the dog's demise. It was a burden on her to be sure, but Chuck's protection from harm had always been his sister's top priority.

As Steve worked silently at his table, still listening to the coyotes bark, he wondered whatever happened to 'Peaches 2'. He hoped that Peaches 2 had lived a long life with his kids. That the dog had served as their protector when he had to leave in order to ensure their protection. And that the choice he made in his past to leave them had not destroyed both of their futures.

Steve huddled over the future of Roark Instruments in front of him. The stoner who gave the laptop to him during the Burning Man Festival had thought it was worthless because he couldn't get past the password protection. Of course, the embedded safeguards were no match for Steve's abilities. When he first examined the structure of the 'R7' (as it was labeled), he noticed that the integral RF shielding and voltage regulation sections still bore an ancestral resemblance to a prototype design he had created more than a decade ago. _Ted never did like to do his own work._ The wild dogs outside seemed to affirm Steve's conviction with their distant howls.

Even as personally frustrating as it was to know that Ted Roark had made a killing off of stealing his designs, there was one creation of Steve's that he desperately hoped Ted had abandoned — the imaging technology he had developed for the 'Omaha Project'. While the technology was an amazing break-through with endless possibilities, it was Ted's maniacal desire to download these encoded images into the human brain that ultimately led Steve to abandon his life's work, his family, and everything else that he cared about in order to ensure their protection.

_Too bad Ted didn't take the necessary steps to protect his work_, Steve grinned as he gained access to the rest of the prototype's systems through a backdoor he had placed in the basic design of the operating system long ago. The information contained on the laptop was largely benign but there was one embedded file buried within the hardware that caught his interest.

_Hello, what do we have here?_ Steve thought, as he parsed through the file's contents. The file was just a large list of what looked like cipher text, but… there was more to it than that. These weren't just commercial encryption keys for everyday VPN or personal financial software. These were military codes, encapsulated with command words for easy insertion into mil-spec telemetry encryption devices. And the device these codes seemed to be prepared for was the TSEC/KG-174, a relatively modern unit used mostly with extremely low-latency applications like flight telemetry. Like…

Steve's eyes widened and he sat bolt upright in his chair, "Whatwas Roark doing with the encryption keys for the MQ-1 Predators?" He didn't know but he was going to find out. It was only a matter of time.

As the wild dogs outside continued to howl into the night, Steve thought back to his old friend Peaches. "Sorry we couldn't save you Peaches, but tonight you may have just saved the world," he remarked as he examined the data on the computer. It was hard to miss the strange twist of fate that brought this prototype to him along with the ability to hack into it.

"Good thing Ted didn't know that you were always at _his_ backdoor," he grinned. He was still amazed that no one at Roark had ever discovered the backdoor he built into the core of the original operating system – a backdoor that he named after the real-life protector who once guarded the Bartowski backdoor – Peaches.

* * *

Meanwhile . . . back at Chuck's apartment

"Peaches used to sit at our backdoor and stand guard back when we lived in Connecticut. But after we moved here, you know, I thought that he just ran away," Chuck reflected and continued, "that was, until the night we played 'Know Ya' and Morgan spilled the beans."

Sarah nodded.

"So Sarah Walker I guess I have something else to thank you for—you helped me find out the truth about Peaches."

"You know. . . . it's funny . . . I never would have pictured you with a Springer Spaniel. You just seem more like a Golden kind of guy to me," she remarked.

"Well, what's not to love about 'endearing, eager to please, intelligent, and excitable'?" Chuck kidded.

"Wait, are we talking about a dog or _you_?" Sarah smiled with raised brows.

Chuck gave a half-grin. "Well, I haven't heard what dog Sarah Walker, Jenny Burton, or . . . _Katie O'Connell _had," giving particular emphasis to the last and most recent alias that she had disclosed to him after they won the Glendale Scrabble Tournament.

"What makes you think that Katie O'Connell ever had a dog, super-sleuth Agent Charles 'Maddog' Carmichael?" she joked.

"Well I'm not so interested in her—remember she really liked Scrabble and we saw what _those _people were like," he kidded. "But I bet I could find out what dog Sarah Walker would be most like," Chuck smiled as he pulled his iPhone from his pocket. He tapped on _Safari_ and upon completion of a quick search for dog personality tests, he found the site that he wanted—www. dogster. com/ quizzes/ what_ dog_ breed_ are_ you/.

"Oh no, if you do me then I insist on doing you," Sarah pulled out her iPhone and typed in the website information.

Chuck eyes widened and Sarah realized her blunder. She corrected herself, "I mean… I'll handle yours if you take care of mine." Her face flushed when she heard her second attempt fail to steer clear of sexual innuendo.

"Ahh. . . I got it," Chuck remarked.

"I meant, I'll answer for you and you for me." Sarah said finally. After a moment's reflection, she let out a quiet but relieved sigh and peeked up for a split second at Chuck, but his eyes were forcefully glued to his iPhone. She barely suppressed a grin – Chuck wasn't very good at hiding his discomfort. And with that, the comfortable fake couple began to consider and answer the ten questions one after another.

Chuck read the first question aloud and tailored to their situation, "You run into your best friend. You greet your friend by:

Saying a quick hello, and then digging into what's happening with the Intersect at the BuyMore.

Offering a big hug and suggesting, 'Let's chat over a frozen yogurt at the Orange Orange.'

Kissing your friend on both cheeks, then complimenting him on his Nerd Herd uniform while thinking, 'Now how would that look on me?'

Hugging your friend warmly and asking, 'How are you doing?'

Giving a friendly arm squeeze and saying, 'So tell me what Jeffster is up to!'

"Oh, this is way too easy," he selected 'A' for Agent Walker's sake.

"Yep," she responded in kind selecting D for Chuck.

Chuck read on, "Question 2: You're signing the off-site computer install paperwork for the Intersect. Your signature looks like?"

"Well, you know the answer to that one too," she joked selecting an answer for Chuck.

"Right! . . . . Katie O'Connell's signature is legible, straight—even if it is an alias." Chuck winked.

"Next question: it's Friday after a long, hard week of quelling a revolution in Columbia with a fork. It's time for Happy Hour with friends and so you order . . ."

"There's a happy hour in Bogota? Not when I've been there." She scrunched the side of her mouth and considered the answers, "Okay, of those choices . . . definitely bottled water." She took a drink and oft-handedly mentioned, "You know, the last time I had wine down there. . . oh never mind, let's just say you never know when you'll have to hit the trail running." She stopped herself realizing that she was about to open the door that should definitely stay closed.

Before Chuck could respond, she piped in immediately with the next question, "Your overworked iPawd has been playing a song over and over, it's either: _It's Been a Hard Day's Night_ by _The Beatles_, _The Dogfather_ by _Snoop Dogg_, _Ed Io Venivo A Lui Tutta Dogliosa_ by _Puccini_, _Ain't Nothing But a Hound Dog_ by _Elvis Presley_, _Black Dog_ by _Led Zeppelin_, or _Hot Dog_ by _Limp Bizkit_?

"Out of these choices?" He considered his response. "Okay, although the song isn't really about a dog, I guess I'd choose Zeppelin," he responded.

"Me too." Sarah nodded trying to keep him from going back to her previous disclosure.

"Really?" Chuck questioned.

"Of course," she said more out of agreement than actual knowledge of the song. But there was something about his comment in selecting that song. She smiled and shook her head deliberately while she made a mental note to listen to it later. After all, every song had a meaning and this one might just end up on his pink iPod.

Chuck went on to the next question, "You finally bought the car of your dreams, what is it?"

"You have to ask?" she joked while scanning the list of choices.

He grinned back at her. "No. It's too bad a shiny brand new Porshe 911 Convertible isn't on the list. You know I'm not a car guy but you did look awesome driving that blue and white convertible last week."

"You mean the '65 Shelby Cobra? It was such a tragedy to have to impound it from the Wang auto dealership," she sighed with a half-smirk.

Chuck busted out laughing. "What is it with you spies, is it a pre-requisite that a spy has to have a car fetish?" he kidded as she smiled. "Okay . . . well at least it's not a Crown Vic."

"Well, _we _need to have a little fun every once in a while when we aren't saving the world in your choice of car," she joked showing him that she had already selected his choice--a practical hybrid not so unlike the nerd herder that had saved them on countless occasions.

"Oh I see, _we_ do, do _we_? When will that fun time begin exactly? Because I want to make sure I take advantage of it," he raised his brows at her.

"You mean you aren't having it right _now_?" she half-kidded. The truth was she couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be. Of course, she could think of a lot more fun things they could be doing than a dog personality quiz . . . _stop it Walker_.

She looked at the next question and considered the possible answers. "Okay, Question 6: After a long work week, on Saturday morning you would do the family thing—coffee and breakfast with Ellie and Devon."

He smiled and moved on to the next question. "Speaking of the future Mr. and Mrs. Awesome . . . You're invited to Ellie's and Devon's annual Halloween fest. . . .Will the CIA tailored Princess Leah slave girl outfit make a repeat performance this year?"

"Well, you gonna pull out the Sandworm?" She joked before she realized how wrong that comment was on so many levels.

And so she quickly moved on to the next question, "To keep yourself in the running for Best in Show, your dream workout schedule would involve . . ."

"I guess playing Madden or watching sports on TV. I'll leave the kite surfing, snowboarding, and mountain biking to Awesome," he responded. She tapped that answer for him and went on to the next question, "You go on a mission to a car preview."

"Oh that's easy. Agent Walker would shake hands and talk shop, occasionally noticing the cars in between attempting to plant GLG20s, protecting the Intersect, all the while making the world a safer place by taking down Triad in a car fight, oh and let's not forget giving Anna solid relationship advice," Chuck blurted out.

Upon his mention of the Anna, Sarah glanced back at the bathroom. When she turned back at Chuck it was it they were reading each others' thoughts and they were both wondering, _how long were Morgan and Anna going to be in there?_

Chuck shook his head and smiled. He looked back down at the test, "Okay, last question. You're busy on the run, with only ten minutes for your snack of choice which is . . . "

Sarah scanned through the choices and answered, "Lightly salted edamame."

"I'd say a cheeseburger, but only if you are there to provide a little assistance cutting it in half." Chuck joked.

"Whatever do you mean?" said the sly agent as she lifted up her pants leg to reveal her handy ankle sheath of knives.

"You know, that's _still_ awesome and a little disturbing." Chuck grinned as he lifted his eyes to meet hers and they shared that memory, together.

Sarah remembered the dueling smiles; the interlocked stares and a growing warm feeling in the middle of her – She shook her head slightly and broke eye contact, struggling to maintain her composure. _What was she doing?_

"Oh look the results are in." Chuck clicked on his email and smiled with glee almost as if he were a kid in a candy store.

Sarah checked her screen and gave a slight but satisfied smile knowing that she was right about him. She looked up and over at him. "What?"

Chuck's grin only became wider. "Listen to this . . .The perfectionist! Doggedly dedicated to getting the job done, you don't let silly little distractions get in the way of putting in a full day's work. And after you come home, chowing down on a little grub and taking a little catnap is all it takes to get you up and at 'em for round two, whatever that may entail. Your dogma emphasizes the importance of hard work, and you swim laps around your dog-paddling, time-wasting co-workers. Your cleverness leads to you often being entrusted with some pretty important tasks, which you are always more than happy to sink your canines into. . . "

She raised one brow and scrunched the side of her lip.

"Does this sound like any one we know? Hmmm. . . my German Shepherd!" Chuck egged on.

"Your German Shepherd?" a voice wafted from down the hall. The long lost and sexually adventurous couple in heat had finally returned from their collaborative trip to the bathroom.

"What? Did you get a dog Chuckles?" the Asian girl asked while walking back into the living room with an all-too-satisfied smile.

"Oh no, we're just talking about the personalities of German Shepherds . . . you know from the . . . _movie_," Chuck responded hoping that no one realized that there weren't actually any German Shepherds in _Best in Show. _

"Well, just so you know shepherds are fierce, strong-willed, and protective. I'd be careful around one . . . you wouldn't want to get cross-ways with that breed," Morgan answered.

"You don't say?" Chuck smiled as he looked back at Sarah.

"But they're really loyal and are always guarding something, even helping those with special needs," Anna said crawling her fingers up the little bearded man's chest.

"Special needs, huh?" Sarah asked with a half-grin looking back at Chuck. Suddenly Chuck felt a little like the member of Team Bartowski that needed the short bus.

"Why? Are you thinking about getting a Shepherd because you know how I feel about pets?" Morgan asked suddenly serious.

"But what about Chico? He loves you Morgan," Anna gave a half-pout.

"Ahh, look at the time . . . I think we need to be heading out my Anna banana," Morgan said in an attempt to change the subject.

With a relieved look Chuck walked them over to the door and added to the exiting couple, "Okay, buddy but peddle safe! And be sure to watch out for any German Shepherds—you never know where one might be lurking." Chuck grinned until he received a firm but playful punch on the arm from the agent beside him.

"Owww!" Chuck grabbed his arm in feigned pain while closing the door. "Well that was . . ." Chuck searched for the words but before he completed his thought Sarah looked over and smiled. She knew.

"So promise me one thing . . ." she started.

"Anything after a night like tonight," Chuck responded with a relieved sigh.

" . . . you're not going to ask to be. . ." she added.

". . . Your very own dog handler?" he interjected. And with that remark the happy-go-lucky Chuck Bartowski was back.

"Speaking of dog handlers. . ." Sarah kidded about Casey's recent run in with the Dobermans at the Happy Heights Senior Center.

"Before you go, . . . you wanna do Casey?" Chuck joked.

* * *

The Dog Next Door 

"Wanna do Casey?" he heard through his headset. _What? Has Walker ever had a partner that she couldn't keep her hands off? Not happening with this soldier. _And then he realized that they were talking about that stupid dog test _again_.

"What is it with Bartowski and dogs?" he mumbled to himself. At least it wasn't going to be a four hour conversation about sandwiches with that bearded numskull.

The Major tough guy grunted as he poured himself a scotch. He took a sip of his drink while he considered and largely agreed with the answers given on his behalf in the adjacent apartment.

If Walker was a German Shepherd, Casey knew he had to be a Doberman—bold and assertive, tough and fearless, a Pit Bull—powerful and brave, or perhaps even a Great Dane—commanding and dignified. Of course, his self-important observations were cut short by laughter from 'the most annoying couple in the world'.

"Casey's a Border Collie! Who knew Lassie was living next door?" they joked at the quiz results.

_What???? _

"Listen to this. Famous Border Collies: Bill Gates, Martha Stewart, Barbara Walters. . . " Chuck said in the other room.

'_A computer nerd, a jailbird, and a talkshow terd?'_ Casey irked.

Those were bad enough but, as it turned out, they were only the tip of the iceberg.

"and . . . get this . . . Bill Clinton!" Chuck exclaimed.

"_CLINTON_!!!" Casey sprayed his drink all over the coffee table. "_Dammit Bartowski!"_ he snarled. Then he looked over at his revered photograph of the gipper and quietly apologized, "Sorry sir." Casey couldn't help but envision #40 rolling over in his grave right about now.

"Oh, I'm gonna get you for this Bartowski."

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**Okay now it's time for you to tell us what kind of pooch you are in the review section! Go to: **

**www. dogster. com / quizzes / what _ dog _ breed _ are _ you /. **

**I'm a Bulldog, what are you?**

**[Is revenge is a dish best served cold . . . **_**and wet**_**? Will Chuck ever flash in **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man?**_** What is Team Bartowski gonna do about Sweet Cheeks? These questions and more will be answered in part 3 of '_Man's Best Friend Is A Dog In Heat'_.]**


	12. Man's Best Friend Is A Dog In Heat part3

**Chuck v The Burning Man**

**Thanks Aardvark7734 — you're the best beta ever!**

**BillAtWork this installment is just for you! (wink)**

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All you Chucksters you still have time to let your dog bark be heard. Go to:

**www. dogster. com / quizzes / what _ dog _ breed _ are _ you /. **

**Tell us what kind of dog personality you have in the review section.**

**The Golden Retrievers are in the lead followed closely by the German Shepherds. Are there no other Bulldogs, Chihuahuas, or Poodles out there? And all you Border Collies, Major Casey still needs your support!**

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We'll dig into Part 3 of

_**Man's Best Friend Is A Dog In Heat**_** right after this very special BuyMoria celebrity endorsement: **

**Morgan Grimes (doing his best Bob Barker impersonation) asks that you, **_**"Please help keep the pet population under control. Have your pet spayed or neutered."**_

**Now let's flash back to our regularly scheduled program already in progress . . . **

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**Chapter 12— Man's Best Friend is a Dog in Heat – part 3**

Chuck's Apartment – a few days later

"I'm gonna get a quick shower," Chuck said to Casey while the Major finished up the routine diagnostics on the surveillance feeds in Chuck's apartment.

Ever since becoming aware of all the surveillance in his apartment (thanks to Laslo Mahnovski), Chuck was extremely careful to remember to take his clothes with him to the bathroom. Chuck turned on the water and stepped in the shower. Privacy came at a premium to the most valuable piece of intelligence in the free world. The bathroom was the one place that he had drawn the line. Thank God, even the peeping Casey wasn't interested in the various movements that took place in that room. Even still, everyone seemed to lose their self-restraint there. Morgan and Anna, Ellie and Awesome, Sarah, . . . _but that was only a cover kiss wasn't it?_ His fond remembrance was cut short by a knock at the door.

Casey stuck head partly in the hot steamy room. He had just finished readjusting the mikes and cameras in the apartment. To get Chuck's attention, Casey flushed the toilet temporarily diverting the cold water away from the shower and sending only scalding hot water down on the nerd.

"OWWW! . . . What'd ya do that for?" Chuck yelled from inside the shower.

Casey barked back, "Briefing in 15."

"Thanks a lot. I'll be over as soon as I get dressed. You know _Lassie_ would've never burned the Intersect."

_Lassie! _Casey snarled. His eyes raged and his angry-center brought him back to the dog test from a couple days earlier. He looked down at the clothes and towels outside the shower and an idea struck him. _Payback!_ He'd show Bartowski who was good at fetching and playing hide the ball. He grabbed Chuck's clothes and towels.

Casey chuckled under his breath as he left the apartment with Chuck's clothes, "Let's see how good the nerd is at retrieving now."

Meanwhile back in the bathroom Chuck finished up his shower and turned off the water. He opened the shower door and reached for a towel but there wasn't one. Had he forgotten? Wait, where were his clothes? Then a sneaking suspicion came over him. _Casey._ "Guess he wasn't a fan of Lassie after all," Chuck said weakly when he realized that yet again his dignity was about to take another hit.

Chuck shook off as much of the water from his frame as he could (not unlike a dog coming in after getting caught in the rain). Still dripping, he tentatively stuck his head in the hallway to survey the situation. Thank goodness he was alone. He darted down the hall with speed he'd only displayed while running away from exploding bombs or raining gun fire. He skidded to a halt at the door to his bedroom realizing that his room was the most bugged room in the entire apartment. Facing the wall in the hall while simultaneously trying to cover up 'the essentials' the best he could, he reached around with his right arm trying to grab something, anything from his room. But all he could reach was the lamp by the light switch. That simply would not do. He looked around him in the hall. There were two watercolors of palm trees. Those might work until he could find something that would cover more. He snatched the paintings off the wall covering the front and back of his lower half as best he could. He bolted in his room, dropped one of the pictures and grabbed the Tron poster off the wall. He was careful not to drip on either the front or back of the important collectible his dad gave him. Even still, it was definitely a better shield from the prying surveillance cameras.

He reached over to his bedspread, pulled it off his bed, and wrapped it around his midsection. _Much better._ As he began to navigate his way toward his closet though, the covers got stuck under the rollers of his computer chair. He stepped forward and the bedspread not only failed to move with him but also caused him to trip and fall face forward all the way to the floor of his room. _SPLAT!_

"ARGHHHHH!" the frustrated nerd yelled with his cheeks buried in the blanket underneath him while his other cheeks remained in plain view. In quite possibly what might have been his first bona-fide spy move, Chuck stood up with all the stealth he could muster while again remembering to cover 'the essentials'. But then something else came over him and it wasn't modesty. He was pissed off. _This is just what he wants_, Chuck thought. _Fine, that's what he'll get._

Chuck looked straight into camera and stuck his arms out to his side and yelled, "YOU HAPPY CASEY? Hope you got a thrill!!"

* * *

Meanwhile Next Door

"Check everything out at Chuck's?" Agent Walker asked when she arrived at Casey's apartment ten minutes prior to their briefing with the General.

"Yep," Casey responded. With a smirk under his breath he remarked, ". . . and we're ready for the _de-briefing_ any minute now." _He loved payback._

Sarah looked up at the surveillance monitors and saw Chuck's wet dripping head peering around the door of his room. As he reached around the doorway only grabbing air, a bit perplexed she asked, "What is he doing?"

Casey looked back at her with a slight head tilt and chuckled, "It's Bartowski -- he's the poster child for weird, speaking of weird posters . . ." They noticed him grab the Tron poster from the wall.

"Wait, what's all this?" Sarah noticed some clothes and a couple of towels over on Casey's end table by the door.

Casey snickered.

"These aren't yours? Where'd you get this shirt?" Sarah held up the black t-shirt with the union jack overlaid on the royal logo and Triumph motorcycle on it. She _knew_ this shirt. She knew whose shirt this was. He had worn it under a white dinner jacket the night he came to see her with a red rose in one hand and a bottle of Chateau Margot in the other. Every time she saw him wear this shirt she remembered how dejected he looked at her doorway that night.

Then she saw a blur sprint across the monitors grab the bedspread and then wrap it around himself. As she set the shirt aside, a light went off in her head and she was able to put all the clues together.

"Very funny Casey," Agent Walker half-scowled.

"Opps," Casey quipped and Sarah cringed as they both saw Chuck's face plant followed by the failing of the bed covers to cover anything on the nerd.

"Casey!"

Then on the monitors, they noticed Chuck stand up. Sarah quickly turned and lowered her eyes.

"YOU HAPPY CASEY?" Chuck said through the surveillance feeds dropping his hands to his sides revealing himself in all his glowing nerd glory.

"Now that's what I call a flash!" Casey chuckled.

He looked over at Sarah and grunted noticing that she had shielded her eyes . . well partly shielded them.

"Hope you got a thrill!" Chuck said over the monitors.

"Nope, but I know someone who did," Casey quipped as he noticed the female member of Team Bartowski with flushed cheeks. He didn't know whether her reaction was due to a blush or ire but the truth was, he didn't care. Casey _loved _payback.

Walker turned to her NSA partner put her hand down and protested perhaps a little too quickly, "Casey!"

Sarah then turned back to the monitors momentarily only to realize that she needed to turn away again from the buff nerdcake on the screen.

* * *

Chuck walked over to Casey's apartment still fuming. When he opened the door, he looked over to the Major and grumbled, "Thanks a lot Casey." From inside the apartment he noticed that the other member of their team had arrived for their de-briefing all the while focusing a little too much on the paperwork in front of her. _Please dear God tell me that she didn't just see what I think she saw._

"Hey Sarah, when did you get here?" Chuck asked weakly fearing the answer when he noticed that the monitors were still focused on his room.

"Oh sometime before you sprinted down the hallway, grabbed the paintings, shielded your goods with the Tron poster, rolled up in your bedspread, and then face planted on your bedroom floor," Casey joked.

Chuck was mortified, if he could have crawled under Casey's couch at that moment he would have.

"Oh don't worry I didn't see anything," she offered in an attempt to console him although she was not able to look up at him.

"Yeah, she covered her eyes like this," Casey said putting his hand over his face and then making a big production of parting his fingers. Chuck was slack jawed.

Sarah turned to Casey with blazing eyes all the while struggling to suppress a grin. Casey chuckled. "What Walker? You upset that Chuck can flash and you can't?"

* * *

The agent-asset feud was officially placed on hold, when the screen view abruptly switched from Chuck's room to the office of General Beckman.

"Good afternoon General," the Major said at attention.

"Do you have any updates with respect to the whereabouts of Maury Cheeks?"

"No General, he has not returned home and based on information that we have obtained from Roark Instruments, he's taken an extended leave from work," Casey answered.

"As you may be aware, the NSA has been tracking Maury Cheeks for some time now. We first became aware of Mr. Cheeks last fall. He turned up at the Burning Man Festival in September where we had embedded agents on the scene."

Several images of The Burning Man festival appeared on the screen in succession.

"There were government agents at Burning Man?" Chuck asked. "Wait, isn't it a clothing optional event? Where did they store their… _glocks_?" Chuck added distracted by a particularly revealing scene.

"We are at war Chuck, when duty calls . . ." Casey responded.

"Thankfully for all of us Major, your duty lies in Burbank," the General quipped.

Both Chuck and Sarah looked at one another and did all they could to keep their composure. There was nothing like seeing the General take the Major down a notch.

"As I was saying, based on the reports we have gathered from the Festival, Mr. Cheeks was arrested for swiping another attendee's . . . _feathered tricycle_," the General stated.

A photograph of the recovered 'Traveling Cock' ride appeared on the monitors.

"Is that a . . ." Chuck stopped when he saw the other members of their team shake their heads with a 'not now' look.

The General continued, "Mr. Cheeks told local law enforcement on the scene that he was on the run from something they wrote down as a 'foursome'. The deputies there never passed this information on because they thought based on Cheeks' _appearance_ he was simply involved in some sort of deviant activity."

A screen shot of Maury Cheeks in the buff with his hands strapped together via a zip-tie in the fig leaf pose appeared on the screen.

"Nerd cheeks meet Sweet Cheeks," Casey quipped under his breath.

Chuck sneered back at him with a half-curled lip.

"The report also contained information which indicated that Mr. Cheeks gave away all of his equipment, clothes, contacts, and as you can see _everything else_." Even the General gave a look of disgust upon looking at the nude Sweet Cheeks.

General Beckman continued, "Although we were able to recover his personal affects and most of his equipment, his laptop and satellite phone are still out there. It is believed that the information contained on the hard drive of this computer likely contains the complete encryption keys for the telemetry of our MQ-1 Predators and MQ-9 Reapers."

"So whoever has that laptop has the ability to take control of our Predators and their missile systems along with them?" Chuck asked.

"That is correct. Since Maury Cheeks no longer has the laptop it is believed based on your recent report of the Glendale mission that he is now passing the encryption keys on letter by letter through these Scrabble tournaments that he has been attending."

The General continued, "While we can not be certain who Cheeks is sending this information to, it is now believed upon further analysis that the local deputies that interrogated him mistook 'Fulcrum' for 'foursome'. If this assessment is correct, Fulcrum may be at the forefront of the attempt to control our nation's Predator force."

"General, there's something that you should know. When I sat across from Maury Cheeks in Glendale, the guy looked as though he had some kind of seizure. And then after he came to, he was truly freaked out. Something is definitely wrong with the guy. Has anyone checked local hospitals?" Chuck asked.

Casey and Sarah looked at each other wide-eyed and then turned to the General. Chuck apparently had no idea that Maury Cheeks gave the same 'eyes rolled back in the head glazed over' look that he did when he flashed.

"Major Casey, I want you to follow up on Chuck's suggestion and check local hospitals and medical clinics. Perhaps Chuck is right and Mr. Cheeks may be in need of medical attention." The General instructed.

"General, based on Maury Cheeks' behavior at Burning Man as well as his recent activity at the Glendale Scrabble Tournament, we believe that there is a possibility that Cheeks may be attempting to run from Fulcrum. Could there be a possibility that he may be turned?"

"Good instincts Agent Walker -- that was the purpose of this call. It is believed that the next possible extraction opportunity could be at the National Scrabble Tournament in Reno, Nevada in six weeks. Charles Carmichael will participate at the tournament as the Glendale Scrabble Tournament winner. It will be your duty to track him down and bring him in."

"You are the only ones who have seen Maury Cheeks since his little hot streak in the desert, let's make sure we bring this burning man in by any means necessary."

The monitor flashed off.

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**[What happens when the Carmichaels get a dog and move to the Burbs? How far are Jeff and Lester prepared to go to get out of working like dogs? What kind of dog is Chuck anyway? All of these questions and more in the next installment of '**_**Man's Best Friend Is A Dog In Heat'**_**.] **

**[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**


	13. Man's Best Friend Is A Dog In Heat part4

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Chuck v The Burning Man

**Thanks Aardvark7734 — you're the best beta ever!**

**[This chapter assumes that the events in **_**Chuck v. The Best Friend **_**occurred as originally scheduled before those in **_**Chuck v. The Burbs.**_**]**

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****Okay all my tail wagging friends, here's your last chance to let your bark be heard. Go to: www. dogster. com / quizzes / what _ dog _ breed _ are _ you /. **

**We currently have a three way tie between the Sarah Walker German Shepherds, the John Casey Border Collies, and well, the . . . Golden Retrievers.**

**What kind of dog personality do you have? And yes, there's a special treat for the top dogsters! **

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Chapter 13— Man's Best Friend is a Dog in Heat part 4

2/14/09 –Love BuyMoria Style

He'd give anything for an electrical outage. Chuck would even take a false fire alarm or even a minor earthquake about now – anything to get him away from the Emmett Millbarge love fest that had taken over the Buy More. There were heart-shaped cut-outs throughout the store, cupid stickers on the work schedule, the man even made cupcakes with lips on them. But these things might have been excusable if the love bug hadn't put scented candles in the stalls with doilies. _Doilies in the men's room?_

Chuck stood there resting his head on the door inside the stall. The bathroom was the only place in the store that he could go and think by himself. It was the last place that he could be alone and not be bothered by all of this holiday nonsense.

It wasn't really nonsense though to him. Chuck was a traditional guy. That meant he loved holidays. He dug dressing up at Halloween. He enjoyed having those he cared about over for Thanksgiving dinner. He looked forward each year to giving the perfect gift at Christmas. There was nothing more special than kissing 'the one' at midnight on New Year's. And he loved the idea of being with that same girl openly and honestly on Valentine's Day. But he knew that his holiday wish wasn't going to happen today. They were firmly in the 'friends zone' now. He'd been there many times, way too many times and not just with a drop-dead gorgeous amazingly brilliant woman like her. Chuck was happy to be Sarah's friend. And he was really glad that she opened up to him at the Buy More a few days ago—it was huge step for her. But being the holiday traditionalist that he was he just didn't think he could be with 'a friend' on Valentine's Day and he thought that she wouldn't want that either.

The truth was he just didn't want to settle for being her friend on Valentine's Day. And for him, the prospect of a meaningless cover date at this point was about as appealing he imagined… as her seeing his naked face plant the day before. He sighed. Why did this have to happen just when they seemed to be getting somewhere in their real relationship? They'd finally brought things out in the open about the Christmas Eve shooting and the events at the Scrabble tournament, they had that moment in the Buy More when Jeffster sang, and then she even stayed a while after Morgan and Anna left from their double date for no apparent reason other than it just appeared that she wanted to be there with him.

Trying to move beyond the 'friends zone' and actually romance the 'way out of his league' super-amazing CIA agent Sarah Walker while still under the guise that they can never actually be together was next to an impossible task. But, there were moments that he saw glimpses of something more. He really thought he was just beginning to make some headway—that was until yesterday. Chuck hit his head on the door and cringed at the thought of his 'display' from the day before. He'd deliberately avoided her all day. He just didn't' know what to say in light of the 'Bartowski full frontal'. Undoubtedly, things would be awkward when he did run into her eventually. And she always made it a habit of checking in with him, so it was only a matter of time.

Chuck continued to rest his head on the stall. He checked his watch and realized that he needed to get back to the nerd herd desk soon. Otherwise the green shirts would start to think that he was 'pulling a Jeff' (i.e. taking unlimited bathroom time for rest and relaxation). _Ick!_ Chuck definitely didn't want that comparison nor did he want to know what Jeff actually did in there all the time he spent in the stall next to him.

He was thankful to be alone. But then he heard a voice, make that two voices, come into the restroom and enter stall 2 next to him. The oh-so un-dynamic duo was up to something that frankly Chuck had no interest knowing about. But he realized that the only way that he would not be drug into this scheme of theirs was by being undetectable. Chuck quietly sat down on the toilet and softly propped his legs on the door to the stall. He silently hoped that the two Buy More 'Jesters' would be quick.

"Quickly, we don't have a lot of time," said the nerd with the _Bay City Rollers_ haircut.

"Where'd you get these anyway?" the burned out nerd asked.

"My chiropractor gave them to me after I injured my neck on Christmas Eve," the former said to the latter.

_What were they doing? Drugs?_ Chuck wondered in the stall next to them.

"You mean the chiropractor who took out a restraining order on you?" Jeff chided as if to indicate that being officially labeled a pervert was a badge of honor.

"I told you Jeffrey, it was just a misunderstanding. I didn't think she would mind being unwittingly taped for our Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! collection." Lester apparently wasn't ready to openly admit that his videotaping of women's breasts without their knowledge firmly placed him in the creepy land of perversion that his best friend already openly embraced.

Chuck rolled his eyes and uncomfortably squirmed in the stall next to them._ These guys didn't limit their mammary cam exploits to the Buy More? _

"Some of my best encounters with women were recorded on that DVD," the more senior pervert exclaimed.

"Yeah, well, it's all a moot point now because that rabid cretin of yours destroyed it while you were off on your alien adventures," Lester responded.

"But Roscoe didn't mean it; he was probably just hungry . . ." Jeff remarked.

_Thank goodness for Roscoe the ferret_, Chuck thought in the next stall.

". . . and besides Roscoe's really sweet," the older drunk continued.

"Speaking of sweets, we better finish this up quick and put them back in the break room before Emmett realizes we took his homemade treats," Lester added.

"Emmett's such a corporate stooge," Jeff said.

"Yeah, who would suck up to Big Mike by making cupcakes for him?" Lester asked.

Chuck's ears perked up. _Wait, Lester has a limit with respect to 'ass kissing'? _

"Why do we need to crush the pills again?" the smaller and less-experienced nerd asked.

"It's like my mom said, 'Knowledge is Powder'," responded the more seasoned one.

_Knowledge is Powder? _Chuck shifted again. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out here. These stalls just weren't made for guys as lanky as him. Besides, this spying on your co-workers business was best left to the semi-professionals—like Emmett. But what were they were doing with the cupcakes?

"Once we finish spreading the crushed Oxycontin in its powder form on the cupcakes it will be undetectable. And whoever eats one of these will likely be out for hours." Jeff added.

"Something's got to work; otherwise we might actually have to do some work around here. Have you seen Big Mike today?" Lester shuddered.

"Yeah," the older nerd responded.

"Well, just make sure there's not too much magic dust. We want to knock him out—not knock him off," Lester instructed.

As they departed, Chuck quietly put his feet down, stood up and stretched. Letting out a big sigh of relief, he opened the stall door. He walked over to the sink and washed his hands as a formality. After all, he was only in the bathroom to think. But after snooping on his co-workers and hearing what he just heard, he felt the need to wash his hands of their whole scheme.

While he made his way back to the sales floor, Chuck knew that those two were right—Big Mike _was_ in a rare mood. He understood the slackers' concern that something was wrong with him (even it their concern was only because they feared they might have to actually work today). Of course, their misguided attempt to drug the big man into submission was going too far. Chuck wasn't too worried though. Based on that he'd already seen this morning, Big Mike was in no mood for cupcakes, Danishes, or any other sweets.

Chuck absent-mindedly stopped over at the wall of televisions. He winced at the images of the dogs running across the dozens of screens in front of him.

"Are you okay Chuck?"

His disturbed look at the screens changed from one of part relief and detachment as he turned around to see her.

"Oh, . . . um, . . . no. . . not since Emmett's started playing romantic comedies 24/7, he must love '_Must Love Dogs_' cause that's all that's been showing," Chuck responded. But the truth was, it really had nothing to do with that movie but instead everything associated with all the awkwardness over the past week. The hand-holding at the BuyMore, followed by the all-too-comfortable _Best in Show_ movie night, and then there was his 'debriefing' the day before. He cringed at the last thought.

"Oh, right," she chuckled under her breath. "Well, I was just wondering about tonight?"

"Oh, is there a mission tonight?" Chuck asked, clearly in his own world and not noticing all the Pepto-Bismol pink and candy apple red around him.

She looked off to the side, _how did he not know?_ "Actually I was referring to the whole Valentine's Day thing . . ." her voice trailed off.

"Oh my gosh, . . .right. I'm . . . I'm so sorry did you want to do something?" Chuck asked. It really had slipped his mind, albeit momentarily. But had he misjudged her intentions? Had she really come over to tell him that she wanted to do something with him?

"No. . . no. . . I was just curious, unless you wanted to do something?" Sarah responded in an attempt to save face.

"Doesn't it _seem_ like we _ought . . ._ to . . . do something?" he asked now clearly seeking some assurance of her reason for asking. ". . . I mean it's up to you?"

"Yeah, sure okay. . .we have been cover dating for over a year now, right?" she responded.

_Did she just say yes?_ Chuck's mind momentarily raced but then it came to a screeching halt when he heard the rest of her words—_cover dating_. At least he understood her intentions now. And so Chuck responded more out of habit than anything else, "It would be weird if we didn't do something?"

"Completely weird," she agreed with a relieved smile.

The paradox of their dialogue gave way to a completely weird pause. Neither wanted to be the one to come out and say what they really wanted or what they really meant to one another. They had been chasing their tails 'for over a year now'—so much for saying the things that needed to be said, he thought. Instead, they relied upon the façade over a cover relationship that really hadn't been much of a cover for either of them in quite some time.

Still, it was Valentine's Day and so he was resolved to give her one last chance to do something real. "Maybe we could give our covers the night off?"

"I have a bunch of paperwork to catch up on anyway . . ." she interjected a bit too quickly.

"Good," he nodded although he didn't really mean it. She had either missed the meaning of his question entirely or she wasn't ready, he couldn't be sure. Either way, he was relieved to some extent that he didn't have to go through the exhausting motions of a cover date on tonight of all nights.

"Great." She responded in kind appearing somewhat relieved.

"Hey, hey, hey Happy Valentine's Day you two. Any hot plans tonight?" Morgan asked the fake couple.

_Please don't ask to come over Morgan, please don't ask to come over, _Chuck just didn't think he could take the Morgan and Anna 'dogs in heat' show tonight.

He turned to Sarah and she looked back at him. Suddenly their plan not to have plans together rather than have fake plans was in jeopardy. And as much as Chuck didn't want to have a cover date on this of all days, he knew that there was no way around it.

"Absolutely, there is," he said scrunching his brows giving a weak chuckle while looking at Morgan. He turned back and pointed to Sarah, "My house at 8pm, right?"

"I can hardly wait," she responded in that sugary sweet voice that he knew was all for the purpose of 'selling it' to Morgan. He had grown accustomed to it in their cover relationship but he knew that it wasn't the real her. It wasn't the Sarah that he wanted. "I'll see you then sweetie," she responded reaching up to cup his face with her hands followed by a quick cover kiss.

"Bye," Chuck said as he watched her walk out the Buy More. He sighed with a smile. He just couldn't help but be smitten by her no matter how hard he tried not to be at times. Maybe a cover date wouldn't be all that bad after all.

* * *

That Night -- The Love Fest That Wasn't

_Cover dates sucked._ She rarely used language like this even in her thoughts but she couldn't help it—this one just plain sucked. It wasn't his fault; he'd offered to give 'their covers the night off'.

She looked over at him and couldn't help but think that he would've been happier just playing his PSP alone in his room. She'd like to be able to say the same—that she would've been happier doing the paperwork she referenced that morning just to save face. But it wouldn't have been true. Besides, she got them into this mess by going over to the Buy More in the first place. The agent in her reminded her that she was just protecting their cover, but on some level she knew that she just didn't want to be by herself on Valentine's Day—at least until she saw how their sham was affecting him.

It was hard to see him over there, reduced to playing a handheld video game in order to stave off the excruciating boredom of… _being with her_. She winced at her own self-pity and turned her attention back to her phone. From all outward appearances she appeared to be checking her email, only that was the last thing that was on her mind. She kept thinking about the fact that they didn't really have to get together at all that night. Seeing how tired he was of this charade and knowing how frustrated she was at herself for their situation, Sarah didn't know why they even went through the motions. It wasn't like Morgan was there. Ellie and Awesome were away on a romantic getaway. No one would've even known if they had followed through with their original plans and actually taken the night off.

She looked down at the take out boxes and fortune cookies on the coffee table in front of them. It was strange but every time they ordered Chinese she found herself thinking back to that night at the Last Dragon Chinese Restaurant. It was the last time (in fact the only time) they had given 'their covers the night off'. Everything in her CIA training told her to say 'no' when he had asked her out that day, but he had been so charming and there just didn't seem to be any harm in it (since she would've be reassigned within days). Besides, she was curious. She wanted to see what a real date with Chuck Bartowski would be like. Funny thing was it turned out to be exactly as she imagined—he was fantastic! She silently wondered what would've happened that night if they hadn't been interrupted at the restaurant. She knew it would've changed everything.

But it turned out that it wasn't her fortune to have 'one last night of fun' with him that night. Whether it was by fate or not, she was still there. And while they had grown closer she couldn't help but think that they were stuck with no hope of moving forward. Maybe she was thinking too much about the symbolism inherent in the unopened fortune cookies in front of her. But she couldn't help it. The prospect of not having a future with him while at the same time being forced to recognize all the things that they had never had was just too much.

And, if anything the candles, flowers, chocolate, and even the wine made it worse. She couldn't think of a more unromantic date and she had had quite a few on past missions. But this wasn't a mission, this was her life and she was coming to realize that it wasn't like anything she wanted.

He looked over at her and she looked back at him. She moved her fingers in circles not paying attention to the movie but instead she was trying to figure out what to say to him. She wanted to apologize for getting him into this mess in the first place but on some level she was hoping for some reassurance from him that it wasn't as bad as she thought it was.

"Can I ask you a question?" she started.

"Sure," Chuck responded looking up from his PSP.

"This is the worst Valentine's Day ever, right?" she asked hoping his answer wouldn't confirm her fear.

"Come on don't be silly," he responded.

"Please. You're not going to offend me." Sarah wanted the truth. On some level she wished that he wasn't feeling as miserable as she was in this impossible situation.

"There's gotta be someone somewhere having a far worse Valentine's Day," Chuck said as his voice trailed off. With his response he confirmed it. _So much for reassurance_, she thought.

"But are they watching this?" Sarah asked as she stared at the large black dog on the television.

"Let me apologize again for this movie. I didn't have time to pick up a movie since my shift ran over and Big Mike has been cracking the whip. . . . Besides, I figured I'd at least take one for the team since Emmett's been making us watch it all week. That way I could end everyone's '_Must Love Dogs_' misery. Well, . . . that is . . . . except for ours," Chuck gave a half-hearted smile.

Well at least she could always rely on him to make light of their self-commiseration in some way. She looked at him and responded, "This movie really is as bad as you were saying in the Buy More."

"Well it's not the _Cat from Outerspace_, _Free Willy_, or _Planet of the Apes, _but under the circumstances, those films would have been an improvement," he added.

She gave a half-smile as he put his PSP aside and shifted over toward her. "Hey, you know, you never told me what kind of dog I was last week."

_The dogster quiz._ She could sense that the evening was about to turn for the better. But before she could respond, her iPhone rang.

"That Casey?" Chuck asked.

"Looks like we got a mission," Sarah responded with some relief.

"Thank god," Chuck answered.

They met Casey outside in the courtyard. "I am afraid that you two are going to have to drop your dating cover for this particular assignment," Casey said with a smirk.

"No problem," Sarah answered.

"What is it Thai street racing gang, Ukrainian prostitution ring?" Chuck tried to offer a joke or two all falling on deaf ears.

"No, for this mission, you and Agent Walker are . . . going to be married," Casey responded holding up two wedding bands.

As she took the ring in her hand and turned to look at Chuck, Sarah heard Casey offer one final thing, "You two kids are going to be suburbs. Good luck as a normal couple."

_

* * *

_2/18/09 – A Taste Of The Surreal Life In The Burbs

_So this was how normal couples lived_.

Chuck drove in what seemed to be endless circles through the maze of houses. As he made turn after turn, Chuck wondered not so much about what they'd find this week on their mission at the Meadow Brook subdivision. Rather, he was more interested to see _who_ he'd find when he arrived 'home'—if he ever made it there. The last time he and Sarah had played a couple on a mission he'd arrived at Casey's to find his 'escort' dressed in a provocative strappy lipstick-red dress that accentuated every feature imaginable. The way-too-short dress was practically painted on – a masterpiece of CIA costuming complete with fishnet hose and lace-up black leather calf boots. He remembered saying just before seeing her that, 'Nothing about this job that is glamorous or sexy' and that was still true—the job wasn't glamorous or sexy—but well, the agent, was another story. She always dressed to amazing perfection whatever the part and he was anxious to see how Sarah Walker played the part of a 'Desperate Housewife'.

If only he could find his way to their house. He passed from Meadow Ridge to Meadow Trail to Meadow Lane and finally Meadow View and there it was – the cul-de-sac he was looking for. He turned left into the drive where he noticed the 'Carmichael' name on the mail box. After he parked the blue Saab 9-3 wagon, he got out of the car and surveyed the scene. _Hmm, lots of neighbors, it would seem_. He put an exaggeratedly huge smile on his face and waved to each of them in turn. Might as well start things off on a good note, he thought.

He opened the door and walked in to the Carmichael house. His jaw dropped with the first thing he noticed--the painting of them in full wedding regalia. The occasional table next to the wall contained picture after picture from their wedding, golfing, even in cute sweaters bundled up in one another's arms. It was surreal – this life that they had never had. He moved on to the next table and found the same golfing shot (he'd remember to put that one away later just in case) followed by a picture of them hiking with . . . a dog. Next to this picture was a shot of the same dog—a Golden Retriever with his head cocked to the side. They had a dog?

Chuck tilted head to the side just as the dog did in the picture and suddenly his question was answered. A Golden Retriever barked and ran by him. Chuck pointed to the dog – he couldn't believe it. And then Sarah walked in while he was still pointing at the dog.

Chuck said, "I love what you've done with the place."

"Thanks I had help," his cover wife remarked.

"Sorry, but who's life have I stepped into?" Chuck asked.

* * *

The Peachy Morning After 

Chuck woke up and rolled over. He had been so exhausted after the evening entertaining all of their neighbors that he went straight to bed and crashed. Even though he wasn't in his own bed, it was the first night of uninterrupted sleep he'd had in weeks. He never even startled once from a residual flash or even a nightmare about her. Had he been there alone all night? He rolled over in bed and noticed the covers on the other side were disheveled. No she had been there. He smiled. He couldn't help but enjoy the surreal domestic bliss for a moment. But where was she now?

He looked down and noticed the Golden Retriever next to his side of the bed. The dog lifted its head and panted expectantly. Chuck put his feet down over the edge of the bed and yawned. The dog rose up, stretched, shook, and walked over. As he petted the dog, Chuck smiled and scratched him behind his ears until he came to the collar and the dog's nametag – 'Peaches 3'. He grinned and thought, so that's how his dog personality test came out. She was right – he was into 'Goldens' and he wasn't thinking about the Retriever in front of him.

Chuck smiled and stretched.

The dog nuzzled over a can of tennis balls. "No, you don't want those you old peach of a dog. Those are white phosphorus grenades which the _other_ blonde in the house swears can melt iron. So while I bet they'd clear up that gingivitis of yours, I don't think they'd be all that great to snack on," he joked as he took the can away from Peaches. He noticed the dog pout and so he remarked, "Hey, I know that look; I'm an ace at that look every time I'm told to 'Stay'." The dog sat back on his hind legs in anticipation and waited for his next command. "Whow! . . . Okay, well maybe the CIA's trained you better than me. Speaking of the CIA, where is our own personal dog handler?" he kidded to himself and Peaches all the while disregarding Sarah's instructions not to call her that from earlier in the week.

"Let's GO downstairs and see if we can find her, Peaches," Chuck said with particular emphasis on the dog command as he put on his slippers and the two of them walked down the hall toward the stairs. While he shuffled down the stairs, Chuck put his hands on his head and yawned again. Peaches followed close behind. And then both man and man's best friend smelled something wafting through the air that smelled like . . . breakfast.

When Chuck rounded the corner to the kitchen he couldn't believe it. His eyes widened and his brows elevated at what he saw in front of him – Sarah, at the range, her back turned to him. _In a pink baby doll nightie_. So _that's_ how she plays 'housewife'? Chuck sniffed at the delicious aroma wafting towards him from the stove.

She turned at the sound, a vision in pink satin. "Hi! Did you sleep well?" Sarah remarked, sounding incredibly chipper.

_Dang_, Chuck thought, _sounded like cover speak_. "Like a log honey, how did you sleep?" he said with a raised voice looking around thinking they were being surveilled. Then, in a whisper, "What are you doing? Did Casey find any more bugs?" He wiggled his fingers in a creepy-crawly fashion to make sure she got the 'bugs' part.

"I'm cooking breakfast," Sarah smiled matter-of-factly. She turned back to the stove slightly enjoying his misunderstanding. She knew exactly what she was doing. She felt guilty about ruining his Valentine's Day and in a moment it was all going to set-in for him. He was going to realize that she was doing this for _him_. She couldn't wait for the pay-off either—a brilliant Chuck Bartowski smile. They weren't always ear-to-ear gleaming ones but the key to these smiles were never in his grins or smirks, they were always in his eyes. When his eyes sparkled she knew that she had touched him in some way. Those were the smiles that she lived for on this assignment. She hadn't seen one of those happy allover smiles for the better part of a week and she was going through withdrawals. It was taking everything within her not to blow it. She responded with an understated, "Casey swept the house it's clean."

"Okay what . . . are we gonna invite the neighbors over?" Chuck still wasn't getting it.

"No Chuck I'm cooking _for you_," she responded with a genuine smile, a smile that she realized revealed too much personal happiness in doing something so trivial that she had to turn away. _Don't blow it now_, she thought. _The payoff was imminent!_

She turned back around to mince the chives, carefully keeping a neutral expression, and noticed his face -- it was finally setting in – _mission complete_.

"What?" she asked, waiting. And there it was – his smile. His eyes said it all and then his happiness started to spread into a smirk.

"Nothin," he responded looking like the cat that just swallowed the canary. "It's just funny, I never pictured you doing this," he said.

Sarah smiled for a sliver of a moment and then focused down on the cutting board. While she finished cutting the garnish for his omelet, she responded, "Well, what can I say? I'm _versatile_."

He nodded with a half-raised brow. He added that trait to the ever growing list: Versatile, agile, . . . _worthwhile_. And all the while, he'd thought she couldn't cook.

"Sit," she commanded. Chuck sat, still bemused by the surreal events unfolding in front of him. He wasn't completely sure if he was awake or not, but either way he didn't want to do anything to make it end too soon.

"Hold on, are you enjoying this whole Martha Stewart thing?" Chuck asked less as a question and more as a statement. He could already tell that this career CIA agent was enjoying this 'mission'. Her slight smile was a dead give away.

"I can't believe it!" he chuckled as she tried to stop smiling by taking a strawberry into her mouth. "Please tell me you are not going soft on me," he gaffed.

"Shut up and eat your breakfast," she deflected. She had already given away too much but the truth was she was loving it and it was so worth the small price.

"You better be careful Sarah. One day, you might turn into a _real girl_," he joked. She looked straight at him as they both realized that she had given him something normal. Something that he previously swore she could never be. Something she had wanted to show him when the time was right. And when she rolled over in bed that morning noticing the peaceful look on his face she knew it was time.

Sarah grabbed another strawberry and popped it in her mouth as she turned back to the counter.

As Chuck ate his omelet, he watched her happily feed Peaches a couple strips of bacon. He couldn't help but smile through the whole morning. She wanted to just watch him through it all but every time she looked at him she caught herself smiling, smiling too much. And so she limited her glances and eye contact all the while knowing she wanted so much more. It was an awakening of something she felt was long dormant – feeling something, truly feeling something for someone. _For him_.

He watched her self-consciously glance at him and return his smile over and over as she continued to feed their dog. The image was impossible to miss. She was taking care of him and the dog. Somewhere in the surreal land of the suburbs a real moment had occurred between them.

As he walked out the house that morning the last image he saw was of Sarah and the CIA's best friend—a Golden Retriever named Peaches on the sidewalk waving to him. It was a bright sun shiny day.

* * *

House Cleaning Is Doggone Hard

The waning sun began to peak through the windows of the increasingly empty house on the now vacant cul-de-sac in the center of Meadow Brook subdivision. Agent Walker silently stood by the doorway with her arms crossed carefully observing the NSA cleaners do what they did best. She had mixed emotions about the speed at which they expedited the shut down of the operation.

She couldn't help herself; the urge to linger there with the sunset for as long as possible was undeniable. That's what he had wanted. Actually, he wanted more than that—Chuck wanted another night there. But it simply wasn't an option. She hated shutting him down—telling him that they couldn't go back there, that it was just a cover. All the while she heard General Beckman's words ring in her ears, '_The honeymoon is over'. _

The General's meaning couldn't have been more clear. She wasn't his wife, she wasn't his girlfriend, and in that moment she wasn't even his friend, she was his protector. But in that duty, she knew she had failed him and she wasn't even thinking about having allowed Fulcrum to capture him and put all of those unspeakable horrors in his brain.

No, her failure to protect him came in the harsh reality of her words. She saw it in his eyes and the way that he averted them from hers. The same eyes that had gleamed brilliantly only a day earlier. She heard it in the silence of the store – she had wounded him to the point of speechlessness. She felt it, yes, she _felt_ the emotional distance between them grow even though neither of them had moved. He simply wasn't trained to deal with the emotional roller-coaster of what she had just put him through. And she had offered no shield, no protection, no instruction on how to deal with having a taste of what he wanted—a normal life—all to have it taken away, told that it wasn't real, and that they couldn't go back.

With that thought, she just wanted to turn the lights out and get out of that house as quickly as she could. She didn't want to think about it anymore, she just wanted to move on. As the NSA cleaners took away the pictures of their fake wedding, she couldn't help but think about what it had been like being married to him even if only as part of their cover. And even though there were real moments in her fake marriage, the painting wasn't. And so she tried to replace it in her mind with something that was—the picture in her apartment of them in one another's arms taken at Roan Montgomery's. The photograph of them in the golf cart wasn't real. And so she replaced it in her mind with one that was—the second Halloween photograph of them. This coping mechanism worked; it steeled her resolve until she saw the NSA cleaners round up the dog.

Sarah shifted in her heels when she saw their dog being forced into the pet carrier. She stared silently as she watched the dog's new handler close the door to the carrier. As she stood there, her arms crossed tightly over her heart, she couldn't help but feel as though she was closing off from him—not Peaches 3 but the one whose personality matched the Golden Retriever's so perfectly. When she looked down at the caged animal, she couldn't help but think that she and Chuck were just as trapped as Peaches, and that their feelings for one another had no way out. She swallowed hard and shifted again. She had to avert her eyes to something, anything else. But as she looked around, all she could focus on were blank walls. She couldn't help but feel as empty as the living room where she stood. Everything was gone.

"Agent Walker you get everything you need?" Casey asked as he met her at the door.

_Everything was gone_.

"Yeah," she answered. The Major exited the house leaving her alone. And possibly the only recognizable artifact of what had recently, for a few short days, been a home. She momentarily looked down a hallway and toward a kitchen that had been filled moments earlier. That it was only a story, only a fabrication, was true. Nevertheless, a life that could've been hers and Chuck's. But now it was _all_ gone.

She looked down at her left hand and took off the last evidence that remained. She couldn't help but think back to what he said when he gave her his ring back, _'I almost forgot'_. He even smiled seeking some reassurance. But she couldn't give him any. All she could do was press her lips together. She wanted to say something, anything but she couldn't. She _felt_ trapped. She _felt_ hopeless. She _felt_ like the one thing that she wanted would never be. She remembered that whatever it was that he interpreted from her gaze in that moment, whatever it was that he saw, he couldn't maintain eye contact with her. His smile dropped followed by his eyes, he took a deep breath, glanced back at her, and then walked away.

She never forgot it. It was as if the drop of his smile reflected his recognition that he was trapped. The drop of his eyes followed with his hopelessness. His glance back at her identified the one thing that he wanted but would never have. And as he walked away, she saw that she was losing him.

Lost in her thoughts, Sarah looked down at the circular bands. She never forgot they were there. Even after he gave his ring back, she kept hers. And even after changing that day, they were the one thing that she kept the same. She couldn't say that she wasn't aware of them. She was all _too_ aware of them.

It was becoming hard for her to keep these new emotions she felt for him straight. She looked down at the diamond conflicted and thought back to the conflict diamonds in that mission long ago in Africa. And then her thoughts came back full circle to that song in the Buy More and the moment that they shared:

_. . . . . . . . . . It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you_

_. . . . . . . . . . There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do_

_. . . . . . . . . . I bless the rains down in Africa_

_. . . . . . . . . . Gonna take some time to do the things we never had_

She thought back to privately holding his hand that day. She was conflicted about it then, but not now. Looking back, she didn't hold his hand as his protector. She wasn't really doing it as his friend. The moment had nothing to do with being his cover girlfriend. But it had everything to do with being his . . . _real girlfriend_.

As she silently closed the door to something fake, she resolved to open the door to something real.

* * *

**[Will Sarah finally spelling out for Chuck how she feels about Chuck at the National Scrabble Tournament? Will Lester's pursuit of the unattainable lead to his undoing? Will Maury Cheeks be turned? Will Steve save the day? All of this and more in upcoming installments of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man**_**]**

**[A/N: Did you like Team Bartowski's trip to the Dog Pound? And how about everything coming full circle for Sarah Walker? Let me know what you thought and I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**


	14. HAWT Sweet Emotions part1

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Aardvark7734 – You are the best beta reader ever!**

**A special thank you to Aardie, jagged1, Poa, and Timewalker05 for your nominations of me and this story in the Awesome Awards. There couldn't be a better beta, better reviewer, better friend, or better writer in the Chuck universe! Your support and belief of me in this little experiment of mine has been nothing short of amazing! I am honored and humbled at the same time. **

**On that note, all you readers out there be sure and vote in the Awesome Awards located in the Communities Forum. It's a great way to support truly awesome writers like Poa and Timewalker! **

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[The events in this chapter begin after _**Chuck v. The Lethal Weapon**_**]**

**Because the Sarah Walker German Shepherds won the dogster personality tests, I wrote a bonus section on her just for you!**

**It was great fun reading the barks of BQD Dragoon, Miss Nellie Cat, and Poa (all shephards), Fire From Above and Wepdiggy (the collies), Jagged1 and jessclifton (da' Goldens), Blue Eyed Brigadier (our Labrador), and utuu (my fellow Bulldog)! Just remember it doesn't matter what kind of dog you are as long as you let your bark be heard in the review section! That being said, this bulldawg hopes you enjoy a howling bit of **_**Hawt Sweet Emotions**_**. . . **

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**Chapter 14— Hawt Sweet Emotions--part 1 (Phonography Is Never Much Phun)**

**3/11/09**

It was like any other Wednesday in the land of BuyMoria. A classic music video from 1991—_Aerosmith's_ _Sweet Emotion _was playing on the wall of televisions in the background as the store prepared to open. The green shirts led by their bearded one were not engaged in their typical pre-opening rituals—re-shrink wrapping DVDs that had been procured from the night before, warming breakfast burritos in one of the display microwaves, screwing with Emmett's perfectly staggered break schedule, checking their Facebook accounts on the store's display computers. No, they weren't even putting in a quick back nine on the Wii. Instead, this morning they were all gathered in the home appliances section spying on the activity at the Nerd Herd technical support desk with unexpected interest.

"Gentlemen, watch and observe the creature we call 'desperate man' in his natural habitat." Morgan said to the group of BuyMorians around him as they all focused on the center of the store. "Notice the sweaty palms, flushed face, and frazzled hair as the manimal discovers . . ."

"Hey . . . What's goin' on?" asked a taller and much cooler nerd who often had sweaty palms, a flushed face, and frazzled hair . . . but just not at that moment. No, Chuck was not the subject of observation that morning—at least not from the green shirts.

Morgan grinned to his best buddy in the whole world and remarked, "Hey Chuck!" He then re-focused his efforts on the green-shirt groupies around him. "Notice what happens when this creature learns that his unlimited cell phone coverage did not include . . . 1-900 numbers." Pondering this bit of nature-guide information, Chuck shifted his gaze from Morgan to the support desk that everyone else was quietly observing.

The urban electronics safari watched from a safe distance allowing the various washers and dryers, refrigerators and ranges to serve as cover—a 'nerd blind' if you will. They were peering at the one-time assistant manager; normally the most starched and pressed Nerd Herder in the store, become unglued before their very eyes.

"No, no, no, no, _NO!_ This can't be right?!" _A $3700 cell phone bill? _How could all of these calls have been 'mistakenly' charged to him? He scanned through the invoice and noticed hours upon hours of calls to one number—1-900-BUY-LOVE.

She was charging me for those calls? The whiny little Indian dude whimpered, "How could Bunny have done this to me?_"_

From a safe distance behind one of the Magic Chef ranges, one of the newer green shirts asked, "Bunny?"

Morgan turned to explain, "Bunny. Now there's a tale for the ages, anyone got any grape soda?" Another member of the pack opened one of the display Frigidaires and pulled out a cold one and handed it to their fearless safari guide.

Morgan popped the top and took a sip, "Ahhh… that's good. Now where was I? Oh, Bunny. Bunny Love. She wasn't your average cottontail. No, this former green shirt really hopped to Lester's rescue in the fall during his all-too-brief all-too-long stint as the Assistant Manager of this very establishment."

"Lester was the Ass Man?" a smaller fro-headed newbie asked.

"Oh yes, and what an Ass Man he was," the bearded veteran began, only to have Fernando whisper something into his ear. "Right, I'm getting to that . . .um. . . _Fergie_?" Morgan responded unsure of his silent co-worker's name. He turned back to his other disciples and continued, "See, Lester with all of his big world education, came up with a terrible, but as it turned out, terribly fun sales approach—he called it 'The Friendly Negotiation Sales Strategy'. It was terrible in that we were practically giving the merchandise away but it turned out to be terribly fun when we had to come up with a boat load of cash to close the gap in sales."

"How did you do it?"

"Well my buddy here, Chuck, reminded us about the keggers we used to throw. . ."

"AAH Morgan, I disavow all knowledge of that craziness . . ." Chuck piped in with crossed arms in the back of the pack.

"Alright, alright, well . . . Chuck was not here that night. He was out with his beautiful angel, the Miss Sarah Walker that night . . . ," all the male green shirts let out a collective _sigh. _Morgan continued, ". . . while we hosted BuyMoria's first and only all-night kegger."

"So what's this have to do with Bunny?" one of the overly eager teen greens asked.

"Patience my young padawan," Morgan turned to him and continued, "See, Miss Bunny Love managed the door all night and ensured that we hit the $3700 short fall from Lester's failed sales experiment."

"So she saved BuyMoria?" the teen asked.

"In a manner of speaking, Bunny saved all of us from the certainty of being thrown overboard by the Big Man himself. And then she even gave Big Mike flowers!"

"What a smooth operator! She must have been HAWT!" said the green teen.

"Oh god No! Ask yourself, when have you EVER seen a hot piece in this store that wasn't here visiting my man Chuck . . .well, . . . other than the scary but delightful vixen that is Ms. Anna Wu?" Morgan quickly added the last bit partly out of fear that his sex-crazy Asian kitten might cut him off from their daily romp in the break-room and in part because he _luuu…_liked her very much. "No, Bunny Love was no playboy bunny. She did, however, have one of those deep throat-y voices that if you heard on the phone might lead you to believe she was well . . . a lot like this beauty." Morgan pointed to the wall of television screens still showing the classic Aerosmith video _Sweet Emotion_. "Only she really looked more like the beached whale at the end of the video than the swweeettt love bunny shown here."

"So did they hook up or something at the kegger?"

"Oh no, but when Bunny left she gave each of us her business card and told us to call her," Morgan said shaking his head.

Fernando pulled out his wallet, ripped open the Velcro, and pulled out a crisp pink business card. He handed it to one of the green-shirted newbies who read aloud, "Bunny Love, for a good time call me. 1-900-BUY-LOVE." A roar of laughter began from the center of the pack and emanated outward loud enough to distract the object of their observation. Lester looked up momentarily from his monster of a cell phone bill and noticed the crowd in the home appliances section.

"Shhh!" Morgan lowered his outstretched hands and waved them in a gesture to settle down the greenies in the urban bush . Then he continued with his indoor voice, "Perhaps Lester didn't realize that he was 'B-U-Ying' all of his time and now Bunny has hopped her way off with Lester's livelihood. Which reminds me . . . all you young bucks, always remember that 1-900 numbers are never 'just a good time'. Oh, and one more thing: Be careful, because every once in a while you might get Jeff's sister on the line." Morgan said, shaking all over as if he had the willies.

"Bartowski! Get those green shirts to work, we're opening in 5!" Big Mike bellowed from inside his office.

Chuck looked around at the group. They all knew the drill. Besides, Chuck was the coolest. All he had to do was make a move and the rest of the BuyMorians followed his lead.

Still by himself at the Nerd Herd Technical Support Desk, the distraught skinny Indian dude was trying to figure out where he went wrong. When Bunny left, she had just started her own business which was really taking off. Lester being the astute management professional that he was he had taken a keen interest in Bunny's new business and had decided to keep in touch with her after she left the Buy More.

Admittedly, Bunny wasn't much to look at but her sexy phone voice was really something. Lester remembered calling her for the first time during the hostage stand-off at the Buy More on Christmas Eve. That crazy guy had allowed each of them to call their loved ones. _What was that guy's name again?_ Fred? Ted? Jed? Yeah, that was it--Jed.

Looking back, after '_Jed' _let him make a call Lester remembered that there was no way he was going to phone his parents that day--they would've expected him to do something heroic in the situation. He wouldn't have called his cousin Kumar either; Kumar Patel was a lawyer and would've likely ended up charging him some ungodly amount just for taking his call. That's when Lester thought it would be clever to check in with a "Love-d" one. So he dialed Bunny Love's number. He remembered the first time he called her like it was yesterday. _Hi there you've reached the LOVE chat line, looking to chat with someone special? Press 1._

He remembered pressing 1 and reaching her right away. Ever since then when the low hanging fruit at Benny's didn't pan out (which was pretty much every night), Lester gave Bunny a call. But their calls weren't phonography. Rather, they talked about everything from his parents' impossible standards, to what gigs Jeffster was trying to get and even his inadequacies being the one-time 'Ass Man' at the Buy More. Since the holidays, Lester had pretty much talked to Bunny each night about everything _but_ what 'desperate men' usually called 1-900 numbers for.

But unlike the 'Friendly Negotiation Sales Strategy' that she had learned under his tutelage, Bunny Love wasn't giving away the merchandise even if Lester hadn't been looking to buy it. Lester looked over at the wall of televisions and realized that with Bunny Love, he was being charged for every penny of time that he spent with her discussing his _Sweet Emotions_ even if these emotions weren't about her at all.

_What am I gonna do now?_ He started to pull at his winged hair with his free hand as he crunched the numbers with the eraser of his pencil. At $11 an hour he only made $1936 gross a month. He subtracted that amount from the total bill ($3700-$1936) and came up with $1664. Thank goodness for that upper level business math course at his alma mater—El Segundo State. Dividing that amount by time and a half, he figured he'd have to work over 100 hours of overtime this month just to pay his cell phone bill. _Was the store even open that much?_ Just as Lester was about to give up all hope, the true leader of the land of BuyMoria came over to the desk.

"Is everything alright Lester?" Chuck asked as he leaned back on the counter of the desk. When he did, a clear plastic box fell out of his pocket. Lester didn't notice though because he was too busy crunching the numbers.

"No, Charles. I've got to come up with a lot of money fast, any ideas?"

"How much money exactly? Cause . . . I don't think Emmett's the kind of Assistant Manager who would let you throw a kegger in the store." Chuck gave a concerned half grin.

Lester handed Chuck his scribbled math notes and Chuck figured the numbers in his head. "Well it's not $1664, actually it's $1764."

"_What?!_" Lester screamed, taking his freak-out to a whole new level.

"Look Lester, we'll have to talk about this later. The store's opening. But don't worry, I'll take the first customer," Chuck responded as an elderly octogenarian dressed in a pink blouse and grey tweed skirt with brilliant white hair measuring all of 4'10" directed her attention to Chuck. Even for her advanced age and diminutive stature it was apparent that this woman had been a knock-out in her day, however long ago that was.

"How can I help you ma'am?" Chuck asked, shooing Lester to the side.

"Yes, could you assist me with . . . ahh . . . some conversion questions I have about High Definition sets? I'm looking at buying a television for the kitchen of the Happy Heights Senior Center," the elderly woman remembered.

The customer's final comments drifted off and away into Chuck's subconscious as a familiar tingling came from the back of his neck, followed by a bit of nausea in his stomach. His eyes glazed over and rolled into the back of his head as the voice recognition information in his brain confirmed and flashed forward an image of a Cherry Jello Mold. This photograph in his mind broke into red tinted images of 1940s era British and German passports along with OSS credentials interlaced with photograph after photograph of a much younger striking beauty. The photos were varied and included a shot of the woman dancing on the Kriegsmarine's _Bismarck_ while in port and even one cooking with another woman for German SS officers while dressed in a peasant outfit in what must have been Vichy France. Numerous images of dead German officers followed along with a commendation from President Truman for services made in support of the U.S. war effort rushed back into the fold all to end with the same shot of the Cherry Jello Mold.

"_Jello?_" Chuck blurted out when he suddenly snapped back to reality.

"Jello?" the elderly woman asked.

"Oh, yeah. Jello, love the stuff. It's like mmm good when you have a sore throat or when you just want a red tongue. You know Bill Cosby loved the stuff, oh, and they're great as shooters . . . but you aren't here to shoot anyone, uh, I mean shoot any _Jello_ are you?" Chuck mumbled on nervously with a fake grin.

"Are you okay young man?" The lady squinted through her reading glasses.

"Oh, right. You wanted a television so that you can watch cooking shows while you are _cooking_. . . maybe that's why I thought of Jello because you used to have to cook it and let it cool but now it's all ready in a _flash_—so to speak . . ." Chuck realized that he was mumbling again but not before he could stop himself, ". . . you know my sister Ellie loves to watch Top Chef, but I'm more partial to Julia Childs classics."

"You don't say? Julia was a dear friend of mine during the war, although that voice of hers could grate on your last nerve when we were in the middle of an assignment. . ."

"Assignment?" Chuck asked with interest.

"_Cooking_ assignment," she corrected herself, not unlike another person who every once in a while tended to reveal seemingly unimportant life details in like fashion. "But you know, that was a long time ago before my kids and grandkids. . . ." The woman's eyes snapped back up to meet Chuck's and seemed to regain focus. "So, tell me about the televisions and don't stand too close to them this time, it looked as though you flaked out or something just a moment ago."

Chuck proceeded to inform the elderly lady about the finer points of the HDTV conversion (immediately forgetting that this subject had been the topic of pretty much every station over the broadcast waves for the last six months). All the while, he couldn't help but wonder about this former agent's life. From all outward reflection she appeared to be a kind, distinguished, elderly lady who had obviously retired long ago from life as a spy. From the information contained in his flash, it was apparent that she had lived a covert life when duty had called all for the sake of her country. He noticed her wedding ring and smiled. She was married and even had a family. A_ family_, Chuck marveled. Perhaps retirement as a spy didn't always mean a bullet between the eyes or a shot of ricin in the neck.

Perhaps, spies _could_ retire to live normal lives_._

Chuck couldn't help but shift his thoughts away from this long retired spy to another spy – one he hoped would retire from saving the world someday and live a normal life with him. If only he could get this blasted Intersect out of his head—then maybe he could live the normal life he deserved _with her_.

* * *

**Three hours or so earlier across town inside room 832 of the Maison23 Hotel**

He deserved a normal life. In truth, Sarah was coming to think that she did as well--not that she ever let such selfish thoughts leave the comforts of the four walls of her hotel room. She was still coming to terms with even having these thoughts. But this morning in particular, she couldn't help but enjoy the calm oasis that was just hers without all the cameras, without the microphones recording every word, without the constant chatter of intelligence-gathering supercomputers, without even the constant bell ringing in her ear when some new customer came into the CIA-operated yogurt establishment. Here, there was nothing to distract her from the calm, sweet emotions she let course through her mind – and warmed her in other places she didn't dare verbalize.

An early morning ray peeked through the sheer curtains in her room and stabbed at her eyes – she turned her head with a grunt, scoffing at nature's weak attempt to roust her. Nothing in the world was going to motivate her to get out of bed _this_ morning. As much as she needed to get up and get ready for the day, the comforter's warm cocoon was far too soothing, too reassuring. She feared that the moment she committed to the day, her fragile emotions would escape with the fleeting darkness – their pleasant effect but a memory in the growing light. So she threw the covers back over her head and let the warmth envelop and surround her—all the while helping her hold on to her thoughts of him as long as possible.

She loved the CIA-issue fifteen-hundred thread count sheets and yes, the tough-as-nails agent knew that she was getting soft. But it wasn't the luxury sheets that convinced her to linger, luxuriating in the feel of the soft cotton next to her skin. No, something else was responsible for these unexpected sensations.

It was Chuck, of course. Last night he had completely blindsided her. Then, before she had time to realize what he had said, he was gone. And thank god for _that_ she reminded herself. Sarah simply had no idea how she would have reacted if he had remained with her. If he had pressed her for a response. There was simply no telling what the blasted surveillance would have recorded. Would she have relied on her training to shoot him down again? Or would she have thrown everything away – all that she had worked for – just to let him know how she felt? The fact that she even considered the second question felt treasonous. Then again, there was no denying the strength of the emotions that, even now, surged within her, imploring her to be honest with him. It would feel _so good_ to be honest with him.

Sarah let out a long sigh as she quickly pulled the sheets back to cool her jets before she lost all control. She sat up and ran her fingers slowly through her hair, pulling her bed-head tresses back from her face while noticing herself in the mirror. As she wiped the last bit of sleep from her eyes she realized that the real source of her deliberations was literally staring her straight in the face. The conflicted thoughts she was having were exactly why agents were taught _not_ to have feelings; they were liabilities that couldn't be controlled. Admittedly, her emotions were something she had struggled with in the past but she had finally gained a command of them – almost to the point of not feeling anything at all. At least, until recently. And now here she sat cross-legged in her bed, elbows planted firmly on her inner thighs, hands covering her mouth. As she stared forward at herself, she thought again about what he said to her the night before . . .

_I'm crazy about you, and I've always been . . . _

_I'm going to live the life I want with the girl I love . . ._

She replayed his confession in her mind as her chest felt heavy from the true weight of his words. Then, slowly, a smile crept across her face, sneaking its way beyond the hands that covered it. It was a rare smile – one that had last escaped her the morning she cooked breakfast for him in the 'burbs. A smile that gave away something real. The smile of a girl who knew what it was like to feel . . . _something_. What that feeling actually was she was hesitant to pursue, but it was a feeling she recognized all the same. A warm sweet emotion she had almost forgotten existed within her.

The shadows from the furniture continued to lessen while the growing light from outside illuminated the deep recesses in her long dormant soul. She let out a heavy deep breath and gathered the covers up and around her holding the warmth close to the core of her body. He had told her that he was going to be with the girl that he loves. _He loves?_

It wasn't that she was insecure about her ability to seduce a guy like Chuck. She'd coaxed many men into believing they were falling in love with her. But this was different – she hadn't been trying to seduce Chuck. He'd fallen for the girl he'd seen day in and day out, in all kinds of situations, some flattering, many not. The girl she'd been unable to keep completely hidden from him. And this girl had more of herself on display than she felt comfortable with. The realization was sobering. _He sees me_.

'But how could he love _me?'_ she sighed. She couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy - that she wasn't worthy of him and his professed love of her.

The thing that baffled her most was that his admission came _after_ she gave him what he said he wanted—to breakup _again. _She had sensed that a breakup was coming. She had practically caused it when she told him they couldn't go back to the 'burbs--that it was only a cover. But what could she do? She was in the Orange Orange—the most heavily bugged place in all of Burbank next to Chuck's apartment and the Buy More. But the latest break-up was even worse because Casey was listening in the adjacent storage room, no doubt hanging on to every word that was said. Still, Sarah had chosen her words carefully in the hope that no one would catch on to what she was saying—except for Chuck. She remembered telling him. . .

…_we are taking things slowly and that while we enjoy each other's company we don't really feel the need to label it… and who knows what the future holds for us._

But his response — _that's just another lie isn't it? We'll never really be together _— told her that he had completely missed what she was really saying. It was ironic because she wasn't lying at all. She had told him the truth. They were taking things slow, she did enjoy his company, she didn't feel the need to label their relationship, and she didn't know what the future held for them.

With those thoughts, Sarah caught herself looking at the photograph on her nightstand of them arm-in-arm outside of Roan Montgomery's place. She reached over and grabbed the picture frame tracing the outline of his face on the photograph while considering his ill-conceived conclusion. And then she broke her silent contemplation and muttered, "You know, for a guy who talks about your feelings so much… sometimes you really could stand to listen. . . more." Sarah Walker was never a person of many words especially when no one was around to hear them, but these words were significant. She didn't mean them as a slight to him, he was such an amazing guy but sometimes he just pushed for something she couldn't give him. Like that day in the Orange Orange, she couldn't have said ''no' it isn't a lie'—all the eyes in the yogurt sky and specifically the 'major' ears in the adjacent storage area would perk up at that revelation. She couldn't have said ''yes' it is a lie' because the fact was she just didn't want to lie to him. And she certainly couldn't answer whether they would ever really be together. She threw the picture frame over to the other side of her bed. Sometimes he was so exhausting and . . . clueless.

Still, she couldn't help but stare silently at the photograph. She had given him what he said he had wanted. And now he was claiming that he loved her? Something just didn't make sense. What had changed? Sarah turned her eyes away from the photograph and toward the window. As she gazed into the eastern rising sun in the distance, she knew the answer.

Cole. Sarah recognized that it was hard not to be enamored on some level by Cole Barker. He had all the answers, he was so sure of himself, he was confident, he was a friend, he was a hero—all of the qualities she saw glimpses of in someone else who actually had . . . well . . . her heart—even if she still wasn't ready to admit it yet.

And apparently, he had taken the sage MI6 agent's advice to heart -- _you want something bad enough don't ever take 'no' for an answer_. While Cole Barker may have been talking to _him_ about his quest to get the Intersect out of his head, what the smooth-talking lothario didn't realize was the _real reason_ Chuck was on this quest. Even Sarah had previously had her doubts – that was until last night. But now she knew that when Chuck talked about getting the Intersect out of his head, he coupled it with the desire for something else—_to live the life he wanted with the girl he loves. _Could it be that the real reason he wanted the Intersect out of his head was that he wanted a _real _relationship _with her_? She shuddered and pulled the covers back around her.

What would happen if he did get it out of his head? Her mission to protect him would be over. Could she just walk away when she received her orders for her next assignment? The very thing that was keeping her here was the one thing that was keeping them apart. And once that thing was gone, her work would be done and she would have to move on. Did he really understand this?

She groaned and fell back to the pillows grabbing the covers on her way back down. But then, all of her serious silent contemplation gave way upon the realization that she had just assumed 'the Chuck' (as she had come to call it). She chuckled as she laid there on her back with her blankets covered all the way to her chin — snug as a bug in a rug. Really, _could he have covered up any more under the covers when she stayed over at his place? _It wasn't like she hadn't seen him—all of him. She smirked a little too much at the remembrance of the 'real' Chuck flash. In the midst of this guilty pleasure something else occurred to her causing her grin to fall. Perhaps, his frustration was exactly the reason he covered up like he did when she stayed over.

It had been easy to tell how hard all of this had been on him. She doubted that he had slept a wink during any of the nights of the latest 24 hour protective detail. But what could she say or do? Chuck wasn't the only one who was being watched 24-7, she was there too. Agent Walker was abundantly aware of the consequences for any breach in protocol. And her duty to protect him had to reign supreme over any desires that she might have to find out more about what was actually hiding underneath those covers of his.

As a mischievous smirk crossed her face, she caught herself. _Where did that thought come from?_ It was a thought that she was having with increasing frequency. She pulled the covers over her head in a bit of self-reflective embarrassment. Sarah let out a deep breath causing the sheet above her to rise slightly only to fall back on her face lightly before she pulled it back away from her eyes. She knew that these urges were definitely getting out of control and if she didn't watch it she was going to slip up in a major way.

She was already forgetting simple things such as her pajamas when she had to sleep over at his place. What was that all about? She had remembered her toothbrush, her make-up, her work clothes, even her orange head band for crying out loud. Was even her subconscious working against her now?

She had played it off easily enough until he absent-mindedly gave her _that t-shirt_ – the black one with the union jack flag on it. Karma must have a strange sense of humor. Chuck wore it when he came knocking on her door and Bryce was there. Chuck would've worn it the day Casey stole his clothes causing him to lose all the remaining dignity he had. And then Chuck gave her that same 'union jack' t-shirt to wear after she had made out with the uber-gallant British agent Cole Barker. If it hadn't been coincidence, she would've sworn that Chuck had been giving her her very own _Scarlet Letter_ to wear to bed that night.

And then the next morning she had turned into a ball of nervous chatter. There was nothing that she could say or do which could've made their situation easier. In fact, the more they talked about whatever that thing was which was between them, the harder it became. Another naughty smirk crept on her face as she caught herself a bit too much with the innuendo of her last thought. As she laid there she knew it would have been utterly sinful to continue those thoughts and no, she wasn't that bad off, well not yet at least.

As she rolled out of bed, Sarah thought to herself, Cabo was Bryce's spot. Cole's was apparently Fiji. But where would Chuck take her? With her luck they'd probably end up at some seedy motel in Barstow. But in truth--that would have been fine with her. At least then she wouldn't have to worry about the oh-so-watchful and yes, voyeuristic eyes of John Casey. But then again, Casey wasn't anything like those creepy amateur surveillers Chuck worked with—Jeff and Lester.

* * *

**Meanwhile Back In The Land Of BuyMoria**

Lester continued to survey the damage before him. Chuck was right, he needed $1764. How could he earn an additional $1764 in a month's time?

"Why is this happening?" he lamented throwing his pencil down. Eleven bucks an hour barely covered the rent in his cousin's basement. Through his hopelessness, Lester realized that he would be 'turning tricks' again by the end of the week if he didn't figure something out. But he hated magic and besides the proposition to doing shows for kiddie birthday parties and bar mitzvahs was no way to earn cash fast. He needed an alternative solution. As much as he secretly admired Chuck, the guy had been no help. Lester needed a creative solution, one that was likely illegal, perhaps immoral, but definitely perverted in some shape, fashion, or form. He needed ideas from . . . Jeff.

Jeff would know what to do. He looked down at the clock on the desk in front of him--9:15 a.m. Although it wasn't during Jeff's customary break time, Lester knew that there was probably only one place that his friend would be. Since the end of Lester's unfortunate Assistant Manager-ship, Jeff had continued to receive special consideration that allowed for the unlimited bathroom time for both resting and relaxation. It wasn't that Emmett or Big Mike held this arrangement in high regard. Rather, it was more out of a sense of emotional self-preservation. Neither one of them dared to enter the second stall of the employee restroom out of fear that they might witness Jeff doing something with the lotion that he was always carrying in there with him. It truly was a small price to ensure that their worst nightmares never were confirmed as reality. Lester also knew better than to interrupt his bestie—there just were a few lines that even he was not prepared to cross.

But then he saw something else sitting next to the clock—a plastic case with an earpiece in it. Jeff must have gotten a new piece of hardware for his surveillance operation. Jeff had _obviously_ left him a way to contact him. Lester put the earwig in his ear and spoke out, "Jeff?"

Suddenly he received a response from somewhere . . . "Briefing in 5."

"Huh?" Lester gave with a guttural response. "Oh, that's right, it's Wednesday! How could I forget?" 'Commando Wednesdays' had long been a tradition in the Burbank BuyMoria ghetto. "Alright Jefferson, Debriefing in 5." Lester nodded, spun around, and high-tailed it straight to Jeff's office.

Meanwhile, the all-spying voyeur of an Assistant Manager stood a few feet away and considered Lester's comments. The self-important man reached into his pocket to pull out his Dictaphone. He clicked the record button and made one statement, "_Who_ has a briefing in 5?"

* * *

**40 feet below or so a few moments earlier **

"Briefing in 5," Casey repeated from inside the Castle trying to reach Chuck through his earwig. When the Major didn't get any response, he grabbed the remote access controller. He pulled up the real time surveillance footage from inside the Buy More and found Chuck being unavoidably detained by an elderly female customer. The Major put down the controller and watched the nerd as Chuck explained in yawn-inducing detail the conversion process to HDTV. The Major turned off the sound and sat in silence. "Sure would be nice to have a mute button on the next upgrade to the Intersect," he quipped. He knew all too well that Bartowski's constant need to express his feelings would likely be the team's undoing. But for some reason, the geek just didn't seem to understand. Chuck's problem was that he was just too high-strung.

In the Major's experience, for guys like that under his previous command, dealing with this 'problem' was usually an easy fix. He'd just get one of his sergeants to put a bag over their heads, throw them in back of a Jeep, shove a thick roll of 'George Washingtons' in their pockets, and then 'escort' them to either: The Cheetah, The Pink Pony Three, or The Mustang Ranch -- any number of _those _aptly named establishments designed to let the caged animal inside run free – well it wasn't free – but apparently, it wasn't anywhere near the cost of Patel's phone sex bill either. This strategy had worked on countless occasions to satiate once jittery troops before heading off into battle.

But a trip to the local 'Booby Trap' was out of the question. Walker would never approve and besides the nerd was too far gone for that. Chuck really cared for Walker. The past three weeks hadn't been easy on the guy. Casey thought about all that the earnest geek had gone through. Cole Barker saved Agent Walker's life not once, but twice. Barker was even tortured twice and he didn't talk. Forget Chuck – the Major recognized a little take-down envy of his own.

"Who actually lowers their take-down count anyway?" the Major gruffed to himself. Agent Barker had originally reported that he killed 9 guys when he escaped Fulcrum. But it turned out to be more like 12. _What kind of weird rule of 3 was that? _Casey remembered telling Chuck that he'd 'done 9 before'. But when he told Chuck that it was 'doable', he was really talking about 3 guys at once. After all, that's how the rule of 3 really worked.

And then there was that damn accent. "How in the hell did Walker resist that guy?" So much for her falling for the guys she worked with, he thought. Barker was definitely impressive; Casey grunted and rolled his eyes remembering the Brit's towel drop move. But Casey knew that guy had nothing on the nerd cheeks that was currently stuck talking to the geezer upstairs.

He didn't really know how it had happened, but the Major caught himself on more than one occasion during the Barker missions consoling the nerd. As much as he enjoyed ribbing the asset about his 'lady feelings' for the other member of their team, it was starting to feel cruel--like kicking a man who was already down. After things got all hot and heavy on Walker's mission to infiltrate Barker's pants, he had sincerely tried to get Chuck not to listen anymore. He really felt bad for him.

Still, asset management wasn't Casey's thing. The Major desired structure, order, and control—pretty much everything his military life once delivered. Unfortunately, Bartowski was the poster child for chaos. Working with him was often unstructured and usually disorderly. Worse, it was getting harder and harder to control the guy. Chuck treated orders as mere suggestions. With that thought, Casey half-growled at the screen until he noticed the nerd turn and appear to look straight at him. Maybe Chuck hadn't forgotten his earwig after all.

As much as the Major often hated this assignment, he had come to respect the nerd on some level (even if he'd never tell him that). The leadership Bartowski showed day-in-day out with the yahoos at that god-forsaken electronics store and the dedication he exhibited toward his sister and extended family were commendable. For a guy that had no covert training he had really stepped up to the plate recently during their missions taking down men one orange at a time at the Scrabble Tournament in Glendale, shielding Walker from the Dark Intersect while they were in the 'burbs, and even catching Busgang leg cast and all. Casey looked up at Chuck on the screen in front if him and chuckled. Nah, it had to be the nerd's innate ability to know which hors d'oeuvres to stay away from at Consulate dinners. That skill is what had finally won the Major over—one that the career military man had yet to master.

As Casey looked down at his watch, he heard the screen bleep and switch to reveal his superior. "Good morning Major."

"General," the Major responded standing to attention.

"I'll get right to it; I understand that you have confirmed Maury Cheeks has paid his entry fee for the National Scrabble Tournament."

"That's correct, General. But we have been unable to ascertain Mr. Cheeks' current whereabouts," the Major responded.

"Well, as you know, securing this man at the upcoming tournament may be the government's only shot at stopping our Predators from being taken over," Beckman responded sternly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Since we have reason to believe that he will be in attendance, I want your team to proceed as planned. Once you capture Mr. Cheeks, interrogate him regarding his involvement with the dissemination of the Predator codes. Once you find out all you can, bring him in," the General instructed.

"And if he doesn't show?" the Major asked.

"Then you will commence with your contingency plan. You will have Chuck get a job at Roark Industries in an effort to find and then keep an eye on Mr. Cheeks," the General responded and continued, "Speaking of which, where is the rest of your team?"

"Well General, Chuck was unavoidably detained by a customer upstairs in the Buy More and Agent Walker is . . ."

The General interrupted, "Major, I don't care about Agent Walker as long as the asset is secure."

"I understand," Casey responded.

"Since we are no longer concerned with the threat of Cole Barker talking, I believe that the 24 hour surveillance detail can be placed on hold for now. Besides, we don't want this situation to become _complicated _do we Major?" Beckman asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"No, ma'am." the Major answered but not before the General signed off.

Casey let out a deep breath. He understood exactly what the General meant. 'Complicated' was code for 'feelings' in their line of work. Little did the General know -- the situation between Bartowski and his lady handler was well beyond 'complicated'. In fact, Casey thought to himself that it was good thing that General Beckman hadn't reviewed his unedited report or the surveillance footage from last night by the fountain. The poor nerd had basically come out and told Walker that he loved her.

Instead of thinking about Chuck, the Major considered his partner's feelings this time. What an impossible situation this was for Walker. Casey knew that she had feelings for the nerd. She had practically admitted it to Casey months ago. Still, he wondered where she had gotten the strength, the resolve, . . . the willpower to just sit there and not respond to Chuck last night. _She was good._ On some level, Casey wanted to empathize with his partner, but he knew that it was a luxury that neither he nor their team could afford. Their mission and cover, as exhausting as they were for each of them in different ways, were much more important than any personal indulgences.

At least he was relieved that he wouldn't have to tell the General that Chuck had already decided he wasn't going to move in with Walker. If the General's orders had stood and Walker had been unable to convince Chuck to follow those orders, she would be shipped out. And the truth was, Casey really didn't want to have to break-in a new partner just when they were finally starting to gel as a team.

Casey briefly turned to some paperwork on the table before he heard the back opening of the castle followed by the familiar quick shuffle and squeak of a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars.

"Way to show up in time for the briefing, moron," Casey remarked not looking up from the paperwork that he wasn't really paying attention to. He added that last jab just to make sure that Chuck didn't think he was 'going soft' on him.

"Huh?" Chuck asked.

"You didn't have your earwig on did you?" Casey looked up with a half-cocked head.

Chuck patted down his pants pocket and realized that the plastic box with the listening device was not on him. Maybe it fell out when he was at the Nerd Herd desk. He wasn't going to alarm Casey now; he had a flash to report.

"Oh, no . . . sorry. Look, I just _flashed_ on an old lady upstairs," Chuck stated with emphasis.

"Oh yeah?" Casey turned his head to face Chuck with new-found interest.

"Yeah, apparently she was in the Office of Strategic Services, you know, the predecessor to the CIA. . . during World War II but apparently, she's been retired since then." Chuck continued muttering, "You know . . . . I had no idea that spies actually retired."

"What'd you think that they euthanized us when we got too old to fire a weapon?" the Major asked.

"I don't know, I hadn't given it much thought . . ." Chuck said his voice trailing off.

"Well, what was she doing, numb nuts?" As usual the Major wished that the nerd would just stick to the facts and not his feelings.

"She came into the store to get a TV to watch while cooking and mentioned something about Julia Child," the nerd responded.

"Oh yeah? . . . You know, she taught 'Infiltration through Entertaining' at Langley for years," Casey said with a dead-pan delivery that was almost too sincere to be believed.

"Julia Child was a _spy_? How'd you know that?" Chuck couldn't believe it.

"Common knowledge Bartowski, it was all over CNN last fall," the Major responded.

"Wait, you watch CNN? I thought guys like you shunned the old 'Communist News Network'? I figured with your . . . _bent_ . . . you'd be all over O'Riley or Sean Hannity or one of those other talking heads," Chuck rambled on.

"Chuck, I might be a card-carrying member of the NRA but I'm not a completely unreasonable guy. I can tolerate Ann Coulter because she's . . ." Casey let a half-smirk escape before he caught himself.

Chuck winced with a half-curled lip and cut the Major off, "Anyway, I don't think this lady is a threat but still it was a weird flash because I usually don't get images like that. It had a red tint so I think it might have been from the Dark Intersect but I'm not sure. All the information was from a long time ago so maybe it doesn't mean anything."

"Well, what was her name? I'll send it on and report it up the chain."

"I don't know that I got it," Chuck answered weakly.

"You have a really old flash about an unnamed 80 year old fossil that was looking for a TV to watch some cooking show and you don't know anything else about her? Wow! I'm glad to see that Intersect is delivering the latest in intelligence. I'll be sure to let the General know that our country's tax dollars are being put to good use watching your ass while you flash on every grandma and grandpa that comes to buy a toaster or Cuisinart. Just don't expect anything until she gives us the go ahead to get the OSS files out of storage and maybe while she's at it we'll get her to break out the Ark of the Covenant, the Zapruder film, why not a Terminator hand in a jar, or some other bit of completely useless information all for the purpose of WASTING MY TIME."

Chuck looked back at the Major and shut his mouth obviously deflated. Now was not the time to bring up Morgan's _unique _theory that the Governator was actually sent back in time to save all the Sarahs currently within the borders of the Golden State. No, that one would have to wait _for now_. In an attempt to save face, Chuck looked at his watch, "Speaking of time, Emmett's gonna start looking for us if we don't get back up to the salt mines."

* * *

**Back to BuyMoria **

As the two male members of Team Bartowski made their way back to the land of their electronic indentured servitude, they were stopped at the Nerd Herd technical support desk by none other than the sniveling slave driver Emmett Milbarge.

"Who had a briefing in 5?" Emmett asked.

"Huh?" Chuck and Casey turned and responded in unison.

"That Indian ass-kisser said, 'we have a briefing in 5' and then high tailed it out of here. I know of no such meeting, but I should. I am _after all_ the Assistant Manager of this Buy More, am I not?" Milbarge asked rhetorically.

Chuck looked back at Casey and Casey grunted.

"So apparently there's some meeting going on at this backwater branch that I don't know about?" the Ass Man questioned this time waiting for a response.

"Look, I don't know Emmett. Uh . . . maybe you should check the restroom," Chuck responded with raised brows and a slight head tilt.

"Mr. Bartowski, as much as I _love_ gathering intelligence, there are a few barriers that even I won't cross. Heading into the employee bathroom during breaks when the scrawny brown brown-noser has gone in there to meet that balding mutant after he's purchased a new vial of Vaseline is one of them." Emmett then turned to Casey and pointed into the tough guy's chest. "But you two will go in there and find out what all this 'debriefing' is about. Then you will report back to me _pronto_, understood?"

Chuck turned just in time to notice the white-knuckled fist of his handler was getting ready to man-handle the self-important ass of a man. Chuck stepped in front of Casey and responded directly to Emmett, "Right."

Before they set off on their new marching orders, Casey turned to the Nerd Herd desk and noticed the familiar clear plastic case that once held Chuck's earwig was sitting open and empty on the desk. He grabbed the case and shoved it into Chuck's chest saying, "Couldn't you have just kept it in your pants like everything else that you're not using these days?"

Chuck sneered and mockingly mouthed back the Major's quip as they made their way back to the employee restroom.

"Come on. Let's go check on dumb and dumber before they do any real damage," the Major croaked.

When they arrived at the restroom, Casey opened the door without a sound. As the male duo crept into the employee bathroom they could hear the un-dynamic duo of creeps luckily this time in non-adjacent stalls. Casey motioned for Chuck to follow him into the unoccupied stall between the two ones currently occupied by the two imbeciles.

"So, you didn't call me in here Jeffrey?" the unwitting pervert asked a bit perplexed.

"No, but you're always welcome to join me Lester, I find my time here so _relaxing_. Would you like some lotion?" the real pervert responded sliding the Vaseline under the stall toward Lester. Only the cream stopped short of its intended destination when it hit the Major's boots in the middle stall.

Casey gave Chuck a wide-eyed disgusted look while Chuck mouthed back, '_I'm gonna be sick_!' No job was worth this brand of dirty work.

Lester lowered his head to grab the lotion but froze when he noticed two pairs of shoes had joined them in the restroom -- one set were the unmistakable Converse Chucks and the other set appeared to be the pervert who was obsessed with the one who wore the Converse shoes that bore his name. Lester slowly rose back up in disgust. How could they do _that_ in an employee restroom? Perverts! _Did Sarah know? _But more importantly, _'_How would he get out of here now?' Lester wondered.

"You alright, Lester?" Jeff responded two stalls over.

"Noooo. . . Nooo . . . NOOO!" responded the shorter Indian in the far stall. "Look, all I heard you say was debriefing in 5! Commando Wednesdays is one thing but whatever it is that is going on here _now_, . . . well. . . I don't want to know," Lester responded as he ran out of the stall straight to the sink spraying water all over him before jetting out all in a matter of 2.2 seconds.

"Lester?" Jeff said quickly following his buddy out of the restroom.

As the door slammed shut, the male members of Team Bartowski exited the stall that they had both just shared with thoroughly confused looks on both of their faces.

"Well, he definitely has my earwig. Could he have heard anything about what you talked with Beckman this morning?"

"Don't worry . . . I'll take care of it." Casey remarked with a grin and sure nod.

* * *

**[How far will Team Bartowski go to find out what Lester knows? This question and more in the next installment of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man.**_**]**

**[For a bit of interactive fun: Name the episode that had Bunny in it! The first reviewer to guess correctly will win a special prize!]**

**[For an extra special prize, be the first reviewer to correctly list the three towns where the four 'establishments' that Casey used to take his 'jittery' troops are located!] **

**[Also as per our agreement, free 'double scoops' of upcoming Burning Man goodness to all those who review!]**


	15. HAWT Sweet Emotions part2

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader ever!**

**[A/N: The events in this chapter begin just before **_**Chuck v. The Predator**_**]**

* * *

**Congratulations: Jagged1 **and **BlueEyed Brigadier **for winning the Ch.14 contests!

**Jagged1** correctly identified the episode with Bunny--Chuck v. The Cougars! **BlueEyed Brigadier** guessed the real life locations of the "gentlemen's clubs"! For their participation they got to identify several fun items included in Lester's pad including: the Arena rock posters, the "Boobies" paraphernalia, Lester's wikipedia entry, and even the Jeffster photos!

**STAY TUNED** because **YOU** will have your very own chance to **WIN** after this installment of "_Hawt Sweet Emotions!_"

* * *

**Chapter 15 -- HAWT Sweet Emotions part 2 -- _Being A Spy Isn't All It's Crapped Up To Be_**

"Take care of it? This really wasn't what I had in mind when you said YOU'D take care of it, Casey," Chuck whined looking down at the jumpsuits in front of him on the castle table.

Before the Major could respond with a trademark-worthy quip his phone rang. "Pete's Plumbing. . .we . . . uh. . . we make your problems . . . go down the drain."

Chuck slapped his forehead and looked at Sarah, "I guess being a spy is finally all it's _crapped_ up to be."

Casey shot Chuck a look while he responded into his phone, "Yes ma'am, we'll have your toilet up and running in no time. What's your address?"

Chuck looked back at the other member of 'Pete's Plumbing' and remarked, "Well, I'm definitely not going to be 'Pat'," handing off the jumpsuit with that label to Sarah.

"Me either," she answered with a half-grin, shoving that jumpsuit toward the member of their team that thought up this dumpy plan. Chuck looked back at her with a bit of surprise. Something was different in the way she was looking at him; he just couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe giving her the chance to sleep in earlier that day had been just what the doctor ordered. Whatever it was, he liked it. He liked it so much that he found it hard to turn away from the unusually warm smile, the way her eyes seemed to be glowing…

Casey hung up the phone. While looking down at the jumpsuit with the 'Pat' label he couldn't help but smirk. "What is it Walker? The Bartowski tonsil hockey with the Scrabble shemale 'Pat' still too fresh in your mind?" Sarah rolled her eyes but Casey was not to be dissuaded. Instead he continued his attack, this time focusing on the more vulnerable member of their team, "You know, you might get a chance for round two in a couple weeks at the Scrabble tournament in Reno with . . . him or her."

"Please don't remind me," Chuck whimpered, his "Sarah reverie" shattered by the invading memory. The very thought of running into Pat O'Riley again, creeped him out. "_Ewww!_" Chuck said with deliberate emphasis almost emulating the androgynous semi-pro Scrabble player, _almost_.

Sarah looked back at him reassuringly, "Here, Chuck, take this one. You can be Jorge." She handed him one of the two remaining jumpsuits and took the other one for herself.

As he took the jumpsuit from her, Chuck glanced furtively at Sarah to catch more of what he'd seen before, but in the brief instant their eyes made contact she seemed to have a moment of recognition and her eyes flicked away. His small disappointment though was masked by Casey's growling order.

"Come on. They're here. Time for us to head out."

"Wait, who's here?" Chuck questioned.

"The NSA cleaners. They planted a couple GLG-20s in the Patel home this afternoon while posing as well . . ."

"Cleaners?" Chuck couldn't believe it until he saw the NSA's finest on the screen.

Team Bartowksi hurriedly put on their jumpsuits and made their way outside the back of the Orange Orange. Chuck watched the 'cleaners' change the logo on the van from 'Maid to Order' to 'Pete's Plumbing'.

"I guess I'm gonna have to keep my eye on the Merry Maids next time they clean Ellie's apartment. Instead of sweeping for bugs, they could be planting them."

Sarah smirked at Casey's groan.

"What? I bet they even dust for fingerprints," Chuck quipped.

Sarah chuckled as Casey seemingly began to lose his calm.

". . . or they could even 'mop up' the operation," Chuck continued on a roll.

As much as the female agent was enjoying the latest episode of 'Duty and the Geek' as presented by the male members of her team, she knew which one would win eventually and so she tried to signal with her widened eyes to Chuck to 'cool it'. Only the nerd was definitely not catching her hint.

"Bartowski." The Major responded with a warning while grabbing the plumbers tape.

Chuck was clearly not afraid and so he continued, "Not to mention sealing up the . . ." But before he could finish verbalizing his thought, Casey ripped off a large section of Teflon tape and wrapped it over the mouth of the once-blabbering nerd. As usual 'Duty' prevailed, at least momentarily.

"There. Now let's go snake a drain, _Jorge_," Casey remarked.

Chuck pulled off the tape and mockingly protested, "Aww, come on I was just having a little _clean_ fun," he looked at the new logo on the van and continued, ". . . for _Pete's_ sake."

This time Casey pulled out his monkey wrench and reached up toward Chuck's ear.

"Alright you two, can we put off the . . . ," she really wanted to say 'monkey business' but she thought the better of it. She started again as they piled into the van, "Can we just focus on the task at hand?"

Casey nodded, put the key in the ignition, and drove them to the Beverly Hills address that Ms. Patel gave him. During the drive, he explained the scope of that evening's 'mission' to Chuck. "We have orders to determine if that pretty-boy Patel knows anything about you and our upcoming mission since he had your earwig on during the briefing I had with the General earlier today. Given the inordinate amount of time Lester spends in the employee restroom and how prissy he is, I told the cleaners to put the bugs in the bathroom. So all we need to do is go in there, extract them, and determine what, if anything, he knows."

"Seriously, the bathroom? I try to avoid Lester in the restroom at work and I really don't want to know what he does in his spare time in his bathroom at home. Besides, what happens if we actually have to . . . plumb?" Chuck questioned as they pulled up to the swanky estate located at 518 Crestview Drive.

Before Casey could respond, Sarah interjected, "Wow. Lester lives _here_?" She was particularly taken aback by the 'cement pond' in the back.

"Yeah, I think this is his cousin Kumar's place. The guy made it big a couple years ago making some documentary about stoners getting the munchies and looking all night for tiny square burgers or something. Anyway, I think Lester lives in the basement," Chuck stopped his ramble after his two handlers exited the van. He lingered there for a moment waiting for the inevitable instruction to be given to him. Only this time there was no order to 'stay'.

Casey looked back at Chuck and responded, "Well, are you coming _Jorge_?"

A slight smile appeared out of the corner of the nerd's mouth. He couldn't believe it. No 'stay'? _No way._ No matter how much this assignment might stink, _it_ _had to be_ _better_ _than staying in the van_.

He hurriedly grabbed the remaining tool box and two-stepped it to catch up with Sarah and Casey as they reached the front steps. Chuck looked at the words above the door—'White Castle'. Admittedly, it was not the most inventive name but it seemed to suit the Kumar Patel family.

A woman dressed in a cardinal red sari with gold ribbon opened the door. "Thank goodness you are here. My husband's cousin, Lakshanya, has clogged up the toilet with his hair products again." The 'plumbers' followed her inside as she continued, "The bathroom is over here next to the basement stairs. I have to get back to preparing the Pork Vindaloo as Kumar will be home soon and he often gets hungry after his afternoon smoke from the hookah at his office."

As the traditional Indian woman left them to do their work in the bathroom alone, Casey finally responded to the 'plumb' question posed by Chuck while they were in the van.

"The NSA put a bunch of expandable sponges down the toilet which are designed to grow to twenty times their size. After they expanded, the pipes became temporarily clogged," Casey noted holding up a packet of children's inflatable capsule toys.

"Wait, you had them put Instant Products pellets in the toilet?" Chuck asked.

Sarah looked at him perplexed.

Chuck turned to her and explained, "You know, drop a capsule in water and watch it grow into a Stegosaurus, old McDonald's cow, the Batman signal, or even a Papa Smurf. Just don't swallow one. I once saw Jeff agree to take a couple of these on a dare . . . well let's just say that it explains his tolerance and perhaps his one-of-a-kind ability to soak up pitchers of beer." Chuck turned back to Casey and questioned, "Seriously Instant capsules? That's the best that the government could come up with in a pinch?"

"What, would you rather us have used diapers or feminine products Bartowski?" Casey answered.

"No, I'm just surprised that the government purposefully clogged up a toilet just to find out if their secrets were going down the drain." This time he was the only one chuckled at his potty humor.

"Leave the quips to me and relax. All we'll have to do is find the intel chips in here and then put some industrial strength Drano in the toilet. Piece of cake," Casey responded.

"Yeah. . . urinal cake." Chuck muttered under his breath as Casey reached around the back of the toilet to find the first GLG-20. Casey then moved over to the vanity to look for the backup bug.

"But what about Lester, what happens if he runs into us?" Sarah asked.

"He shouldn't be here. He's on-call for the Nerd Herd after-hours tech support tonight and so when we left the Castle, I called in an off-site install to a residence in Glendale," Casey responded sure of himself having worked through all of the possible contingencies--that is except for the not-so-remote possibility that a slacker who worked for $11 an hour rarely responded to on-call requests in a timely manner.

From inside the kitchen a teenaged voice wafted down the hallway. "Lakshanya, your cousin Karan Patel is on television. We know how you love _Kasturi_!"

"Great. Indian soap operas. Just when I thought this mission couldn't get any more excremental," Chuck remarked.

Then the team of plumbers heard the voice of Mrs. Patel from inside the kitchen, "Laki, you're going to miss it—it's the one where Kasturi breaks up with Robbie because she says their relationship has no future due to his constant lack of trust in her."

"Now that doesn't sound so bad," Sarah smirked, glancing at Chuck before she pulled her head out of the door slightly to get a better listen.

"Ha. Ha." Chuck responded sardonically.

"While you two are busy comparing your 'stopped up' relationship with Bollywood's latest wasted opportunity, I was thinking maybe we could find the bugs that will tell us something important . . . like whether that nancyboy Patel knows anything about the Intersect." Casey answered while still trying to find the other recorder.

With the Major's comments, Sarah's good mood was beginning to wear thin. She abandoned her post by the door and also started to check the vanity as well. "Wouldn't it just be easier to gas Lester and find out what he knows?" she asked.

"Yeah, Casey you're usually up for a good gas. . . ing. . . um . . . never mind forget I said that. I promise no more potty humor," Chuck gestured that he was 'zipping his lips'.

Casey looked back at him with a thankful nod that he'd finally get to concentrate in peace with the bathroom task at hand.

"Wait, but one more question," Chuck just couldn't shut up no matter how much he tried, "Since when did the NSA start bugging bathrooms?" He remembered all too well his own recent bathroom escapade and the fact that it was the _only _place that he thought he had left where the NSA bugs weren't crawling.

Before the Major would answer, the voice from the kitchen called out again.

"The Vindaloo is almost ready Lakshanya!"

"I'm not hungry!" yelled an all-too-familiar voice from downstairs. All three members of 'Pete's Plumbing' looked at one another with eyes wide as saucers.

"Oh, CRUD!" Chuck exclaimed, then wincing he held up his hands apologetically. "Sorry, sorry, but Lester's HERE? Quick, we have to think of something..."

In typical fashion Agent Casey whipped out his trusty hardware—a Sig Sauer P229 Equinox complete with accompanying silencer while Agent Walker brought forth one of her favored sharpware—a Trademark Knives' Ninja Stealth Throwing Knife.

"Come on! We can't shoot or slice the guy. It's Lester!" Chuck looked at the two of them in disbelief. Casey looked at Walker and just shrugged his shoulders all along keeping his gun raised while moving over to the door to keep a lookout. Sarah, on the other hand, recognized that Chuck was right, and so she sheathed her knife.

Chuck turned his attention to the plumber's tool box he brought in. Sarah moved over to join him. There was a small one foot section of quarter inch PVC in there. Chuck reached inside his jumpsuit for the mint knock-out spray. Sarah smiled. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She grabbed a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll by the toilet and began to pull them apart into small inch-sized pieces. Chuck smiled back in recognition. He then sprayed each piece a couple times before balling them up.

"Here, you want to shoot something Casey? Use this," Chuck remarked handing him the MacGyvered device.

Casey looked back at Chuck with a slightly disappointed look but then he relented. He put his gun back in its holster underneath his jumpsuit. Next time he would definitely remember to bring his tranquilizer gun. There simply was no sense in having to resort to 'spit-balling' a guy into submission. Still, Casey complied and took the make shift blow gun and rounds. He took his ski mask from his pocket and pulled it over his head just in case.

"Lakshanya?" yelled Mrs. Patel from inside the kitchen.

As Lester began to climb up the stairs he responded to his cousin's wife, "I'm heading out, see you later . . ." He was unable to finish his response though because the Major sharpshooter delivered three knock-out spitballs clearly into the back of the unsuspecting nerd herder's throat. The effect was immediate causing him to sink back. Casey quickly moved in to catch the effeminate Indian and then proceeded to carry him back down stairs.

Chuck looked back at Sarah and said, "But, I thought his name was Lester, not Lakshanya?"

"Have you ever met an Indian named Lester?" Sarah asked with a half-smirk.

Chuck recognized that she had a point. "Does everyone I work with have secrets?" Chuck asked with a furrowed brow.

Sarah gave a slight head tilt and smiled in recognition.

"I mean really. Jeff was a missile command world champion, Bunny has a phone-sex line, Morgan only eats string cheese, Fernando is well . . . I don't want to know his or her secret, Casey's a sugar bear, and then there's . . ." he paused to clear his throat.

"What?" she quirked.

"You know, . . . you." Chuck responded looking directly into her eyes and she reciprocated. They stood there frozen staring deeply into one another for an eternity that literally lasted only a split-second. But in that moment, Chuck knew that something different had transpired. He glanced down to her open mouth as if she was going to say something, to reveal a long closely-held secret, one that had been unspoken and yet needed to be said. He knew that she wanted to tell him something he had sensed it all day. Suddenly the bathroom that was plenty big enough for all three members of Team Bartowski had shrunken into an all-too-confined space for the twosome that remained in the jumpsuits with the cover names 'Jorge' and 'Pete'.

Just as 'Pete' was about the respond, 'Pat' returned by sticking his head in the door. "Can you two handle everything here why I take care of the nancyboy downstairs?"

"Sure Casey," Sarah turned away letting out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding in. The Major went back down to tend to Lester.

"I guess we need to get cleaned up then," Chuck glowered as he grabbed his plunger and put it back into 'Pete's' tool box.

"I guess we don't need these extra balls," Sarah sighed and without thinking she tossed them in the toilet and hit the lever.

"No! We haven't put the Drano in yet," Chuck responded wide-eyed, "It's gonna back up . . ."

It was too late. The water level in the toilet steadily rose until it overflowed spilling its contents on the bathroom floor.

The agent, who only moments ago had been paralyzed by the disarming eyes of the one who held her affection, sprung to action pulling the lid on the back tank of the toilet off. She reached down into the tank and lifted the ballcock valve to stop the tank from re-filling. While still holding the valve up, she instructed, "_Jorge_, reach down behind the toilet and turn off the water." She knew that there was no way that they were going to stop the deluge of water without them turning off the water from the source.

Chuck stared at Sarah blankly for a moment. "_Jorge_? Oh right, sorry I'm used to Carmichael. Of course, Carmichael would never handle such a cruddy mission." His grin met hers as he stepped to action by getting down on his knees. Unfortunately, Sarah was stuck in front of the water valve. He tried a couple of times to reach around her all to no avail.

"Sorry, but can you. . . um. . . spread your . . . move one of your legs over, so I can get around you?" Chuck asked sheepishly trying desperately to avoid eye contact with her as he again tried to snake his way around her to reach the valve.

For her part, when Sarah Walker woke up this morning she never thought that the guy who had practically confessed his love to her only 24 hours earlier would be telling her to 'spread 'em' and straddle an overflowing toilet. While she had looked forward to a mission this evening to help her 'cool off' all of these surging emotions, the position she found herself in wasn't really anything like what she had in mind when Casey called her in from her day-off. Even still, Chuck was right and they needed to stop the water from entering the tank. As she maintained a precarious hold on the ballcock valve, Sarah carefully balanced on the back of the tank with her free hand all the while trying to move her right leg slowly over the bowl to avoid the cascading water.

As it turned out, her change in position provided just enough room for the lanky nerd to reach around her and turn off the water at the source of the wall. Still holding the valve, she asked, "Can you reach around and grab your plunger from my tool box?" Walker was completely unaware of the innuendo until it was already out there. Luckily for her, the subject of her early morning desires could not see the blush that crept up on her face since she was stuck facing the tank.

Chuck returned with the plunger behind her while she continued to straddle the bowl. Considering his options, there was absolutely no way that he was going to try and free whatever those NSA cleaners put in that toilet with her in that position. The mere possibility that John Casey would walk in on that scene would result in quip fodder for months, if not years, at his expense.

"What are you waiting on?" Sarah turned her head and then realized Chuck's dilemma.

"See, if you can. . . maneuver . . . yeah, move your left leg over to the other side and I'll try and reach around to hold the ballcock up," Chuck remarked in all seriousness until he realized what he said thanks to the wide-eyed look he got from the agent in front of him. This time the blush transferred from the beauty to the geek.

Sarah turned back to the bowl. As she slowly brought her two legs back together on the right side of the toilet she struggled to maintain her footing on the slippery floor. In her teetering, she let go of the ballcock valve in tank and fell straight forward. Chuck instinctively reached out and stopped her fall.

In any number of circumstances, the prospect of being stuck in each others' arms while sopping wet in a bathroom without surveillance and without Casey would likely have lead to an all-out make out session right then and there. Only these two hack plumbers feared that they weren't the only things floating just above the floor at that moment.

As Chuck cradled Sarah in his arms over the overflowing toilet there was only one thought that came to his mind. "What the _Fah_ . . . is that smell?" he asked scrunching his nose.

Sarah turned and buried her head in his shoulder while trying to cover her nose and mouth with the top of her jumpsuit, "You. . . don't want to know."

"Grab the Drano," she said freeing him from her grip.

Chuck stepped over to the tool box and retrieved the liquid. While covering his own nose, he poured the whole bottle of Drano in the toilet bowl. Slowly, but surely, the water began to recede.

Chuck grabbed a mop from the linen closet and began to clean the floor. As he did, he noticed the once-elusive GLG-20 on the floor next to the tank lid. He picked it up and showed it to Sarah, "I guess the overflow wasn't a total loss.. . ."

Sarah leaned her head down to smell her jumpsuit. Disgusted at the stench she looked back to him and said, "No, it was."

All Chuck could think of to say was, "Don't you ever get tired of this crappy job?"

* * *

"I hate this crappy assignment," the Major responded under his breath as he made his way back down to the basement. The passed out 'Lester' Patel remained on top of the orange plush velvet couch near the stairs where Casey had initially dumped him. Casey reached over to the lamp on the end table and turned it on to get a better view of the room. The leg lamp complete with fishnet hose bathed the basement in an amber glow. Surveilling the room, Casey thought that he must have stepped into an episode of 'That 70s show'. In addition to the partitioned couch and brown paneling on the walls, the coffee table in front of him had a lava lamp and stacks upon stacks of Creem magazine--the seminal rock magazine of the 70s. Casey picked up one of the magazines and recognized an article from Lester Bangs. Casey considered the article for a moment; perhaps which was where 'Laka-wanna know' (or whatever Lester's real name was) got his cover name for the Buy More. Bangs, was a natural raconteur—able to talk about music and life endlessly—not unlike the skinny Indian dude whose tongue was hanging slackly outside of his mouth over on the couch.

Next to the doorway to the left of the stairs there was a kitchenette. The Mr. Coffee coffee maker on the counter had a 'Mr. Fusion' sticker on it. The mini-refrigerator had photographs of Jeffster's one and only gig—at the Buy More roughly three weeks ago. On the wall, there was a framed diploma from El Segundo State Community College flanked on each side with two smaller framed items. The Major moved in for a closer look. "The moron got a _B.S._ in Accounting?" He snorted at his own joke. To the left of the B.S. degree, there was a wikipedia entry for "Lester Patel" and to the right, was an autographed photograph with Lester and another Asian guy in front of the Los Angeles area American Idol try-outs. It read—'Keep Banging it Lester! Yours always, William Wong'. Casey grunted and remarked to himself, "Great, just what we need--another Asian reject who can't sing."

On the other side of the basement there were stacks and stacks of albums next to a turn table, 8 track, out-dated Roland synthesizer, karaoke machine, and an Apple iMac desktop. On the wall above to computer, there were posters of the groups: Toto, Styx, and even the Bay City Rollers. That explained the nancyboy's winged hairdo, the Major thought. If anything, the one thing that stood out of place in this sea of the 70s and 80s was the framed poster in the center of the wall. The artwork depicted a four armed woman in a red sari standing on a lotus plant between two elephants. The Major considered the oddity for a moment. . .

Suddenly, the sound of two sets of squishy sneakers making their way down the stairs startled the Major from his reflection back to a time when hip huggers were low and everything else was high. In one swift move, Casey turned and pulled his gun. The laser sight focused on a face just to the right of the stairs. He squeezed the trigger causing Chuck to yelp as he bounced down the stairs. Only Casey wasn't aiming at the most valuable piece of asset that the government had in its arsenal. No, Casey put a bullet squarely between the eyes of. . . Emmett Milbarge—well at least in the photograph of Milbarge—truly the biggest ass of a man that had ever been promoted to lower management at the Burbank Buy More.

"That felt good." The Major responded.

"Casey!" Sarah scolded.

"What? Just stick a dart in the spot. He'll never notice."

"Huh?" Chuck turned around and finally understood what Casey was talking about. To the right of the stairs there was a multi-colored circular wheel that appeared to be used now for dart practice. In the center of the board there was an employee photograph of none other than Lester Patel's replacement. There were quite a few dart holes in the picture, along with a drawn in mustache, eyeglasses, and even Groucho Marx eyebrows. Chuck took the picture off the board for a moment.

"So Casey, you're using employee photos for target practice now?" Chuck joked.

"Humph," Casey grunted. Good thing the nerd never checked under his fireplace, he thought.

"Wait, a second," Chuck remarked as he looked closer at the dart board. Something was vaguely familiar about it and then he realized what it was. "Wow! Lester really does have a 'Wheel of Misfortune'!" Chuck silently read through the various categories: bathroom cleanup at Uncle Ravi's convenience store, diaper duty at cousin Farooq's daycare, clean out the bird cages at Aunt Fakiha's pet store, clean Daadaa's gutters, wash dishes at Uncle Anu's Taj India Palace restaurant, pick lemons in the front yard, fold clothes at Samir's Drycleaners, unload the delivery trucks at Rishi's appliance center, change Naani's bedpan. In red, the ultimate punishment loomed--You're paddled!

Casey snuck up behind Chuck and remarked, "Bet a cricket bat would work wonders at the Buy More."

"Geez Casey, you scared the pee out of me," Chuck jumped.

"You smell like it," he responded.

"We had a little issue with the plumbing upstairs while you were down here and neither of us knew what to do," Sarah remarked.

"Look I don't want to know about your inability to handle Bartowski's plunger," Casey responded.

"Casey, as much as I'd love to trade barbs with you right now, I stink like . . . " Sarah looked at Chuck and stopped.

". . . a convenience store bathroom? The re-circulated water on the Log Jammer at Magic Mountain? The monkey cages at the zoo? The diaper change station at the Buy More?" Chuck offered.

"No, the truth is you two. . . stink like shit," Casey responded matter-of-factly.

"Thank you Major Potty Mouth. Now can we just get this over with?" Chuck asked.

"Well, you could've stayed in the van you know?" Casey responded.

Chuck curled his lip in a half-snarl.

"How much longer do we have before the knock-out spray wears off?" Sarah asked from across the other side of the room.

"A couple minutes tops," Casey responded.

"Chuck, why don't you check out his hard-drive," Sarah called out while searching the area nearby Lester's mountain of albums and out-dated electronics.

"Oh yeah, good idea," Chuck double-stepped over to Sarah and sat down at the Apple iMac underneath the posters on the wall.

He moved the mouse on the table to revive the screen. The prompt demanded a password. He looked at the various equipment in front of him and noticed something familiar—a CD apparently version four of mammary cam since it was appropriately labeled _Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Boobies!_ It was worth a shot and so Chuck typed, B-O-O-B-I-E-S. The screen returned a message, 'Access Denied'.

"Try it lowercase," Sarah remarked. Chuck typed in the word only to be returned with the same denial message. He even tried switching the "Os" for zeroes and the "E" for the number three but none of these attempts yielded the results they were after. Chuck sat there for a moment. He cracked his knuckles one-by-one as he thought about what Lester's password would be.

Then the computer's screen saver popped up shoveling a series of photographs of 'heavenly bodies' which were undoubtedly taken without the various subjects' respect or knowledge. While Lester's password might not have been _Boobies! _it was the sole subject of his slide show screen saver.

"What have we got here?" Casey remarked with new found interest as the screen changed. He ticked off the 'nice pairs' that he remembered, "Lizzie, . . . Anna, . . . , Carina . . . , the sandwich maker, . . . Jill, . . . Chuck's sister Ellie . . . "

"Okay. . . We've _got_ to figure out this password," Chuck remarked, turning away from the torso shot of his sister.

Then, the screen changed again. Chuck rubbed his eyes with his hands blocking his view. That was until he heard the familiar grunt from the other member of Team Bartowski. This time there were a series of photographs all depicting the same 'two victims'. The first was a close up of a necklace with a hotdog charm on it.

"Wait, I know that necklace," Chuck said with a slight head tilt.

The next photograph was a bit lower showing a bit of cleavage due to the low-cut white German peasant blouse with a black laced-up bustiere/bodice.

"Well, it looks like Lester's been to the Weinerlicious," Casey chuckled.

"I'm gonna kill him," Sarah fumed and started toward the sleeping Indian.

"Hold on Walker, it could be someone else. . . .Nope, he's got the Orange Orange too." Casey remarked as a new shot popped up depicting a chesty shot of an orange tank top with the trademark 'O' in the center flanked with flowing blonde hair. "You know Walker, I didn't realize that your hair was getting so long," the Major quipped.

"Okay, Chuck listen to me." Sarah said in an attempt to divert his eyes from the screen. Only she should have realized that she was standing and Chuck was sitting so instead of seeing something she didn't want him focusing on in 2-D, he was now turned face to, well, chest, all in 3-D. Chuck quickly averted his eyes looking up to her face. Sarah continued, "You have got to hack that computer. After all, your . . . _sister's_ on there."

Casey snorted and Chuck couldn't help a smirk in response. "Okay, you have any ideas? Cause I've tried boobies, jugs, knockers, titties, bosom, teat, nipples, tits, and boobs and… I'm sorry Sarah," Chuck looked up at her in earnest in a half-apology while still trying not to focus on the two most prominent items in front of him. Sarah was both amused and… touched, she thought, that Chuck thought he needed to apologize for using these slang terms around her. She felt a grin coming and fought to suppress it. If he only _knew_ what she was used to hearing in her line of work.

"What about bazookas, headlights, honkers, hooters, rack, and bazoombas?" Casey thought for a moment, "Oh and don't forget all the fruit references."

"Right, melons, cantaloupes, mangos, watermelons, passion fruit, etcetera, etcetera." Chuck said as he continued to type all the various slang terms he had heard Lester and the other Buy More cretins use through the years to describe women's breasts. A topic said cretins would have had a lot more direct experience with had they only taken the time to learn the correct (and less offensive) terminology in _kindergarten_.

Sarah looked up at the poster that stood out among all the others above the computer—the poster of the four-armed Hindu woman in a red sari. "Try Lakshmi."

"What?" Chuck looked back at Sarah with scrunched brows. Sarah pointed to the poster and explained, "She's the Hindu goddess of wealth and prosperity. You learn these things when you spend months in Mumbai."

As much as Chuck wanted to find out more about this off-hand Sarah revelation, now was not that time. "Okay, it's worth a shot," Chuck remarked. Unfortunately, that attempt failed as well.

"We're going about this the wrong way."

"What do you mean Casey?" Chuck asked looking up at the wall.

Casey smirked and realized that perhaps the Indian nerd had something in common with the Intersect nerd. He reached up and turned the poster of the Hindu goddess around and set it down on the desk. Sure enough he was right.

The three members of Team Bartowski stared at Lester Patel's little known secret—it was none other than the material girl herself straight from her 1990 Blond Ambition Tour.

"Wow Walker, you can really see the resemblance," Casey remarked looking at the queen of pop and then back at the blond tresses of his fellow agent.

"Yeah, no wonder he wanted to take a crack at you when we broke up last year," Chuck said weakly.

"All you need is the pointy. . ."

"John Casey if you finish that statement, so help me, I'll finish what I started with you that day in the Weinerlicious," Sarah threatened with a clenched jaw.

Meanwhile, Chuck wasn't paying either of them any attention. "Hey, guys I got it. I figured out the password," Chuck gleefully remarked.

"So what was it?" Casey asked turning back to the monitor.

A bit more subdued Chuck responded, "Umm…you were right Casey. The password was 'cones'."

"Great. Let's rip the hard drive, secure Agent Walker's _cones_, and get out of here before the pervert wakes up," the Major instructed.

As if on cue, the Indian nerd stirred for a moment on the couch. Sarah moved over to the couch to make sure he was still out.

Chuck looked back with raised brows. He would have to act quickly. He looked up at Casey and whispered, "Are you sure about this?" Under normal circumstances he would have never considered crashing his co-worker's computer. Of course, he had warned Lester about mammary cam on multiple occasions and the guy just didn't listen.

"What you want pictures of your sister on the internet? Besides, what happens when Fulcrum sees Walker's tatahs and matches them up to you? It's a matter of national security soldier." Casey said completely failing to keep a straight face. Then he moved right to Chuck's ear level and whispered lowly through his smirk, "And besides if you do this, it'll get you in good with Walker."

Chuck's jaw flat-out dropped. Was the Major KillJoy finally coming around?

Casey dropped his smirk and turned away from him to look back at Sarah. She silently pointed at herself and then put two fingers to her eyes signaling that she would watch Lester. Then she pointed to Casey, moved her fingers in a walking motion and gestured for him to head upstairs and let Mrs. Patel know that they had "fixed the drain" so that they could get out of there.

Casey leaned back over to Chuck and said, "I'll meet you both in the van." Before Casey made his way up the stairs, he planted a new GLG-20 on the back of the 'Wheel of Misfortune'. He thought to himself, the Indian nancyboy's misfortune is only just beginning.

**

* * *

****[Now it's time for the Interactive part of our program: (1) The first reviewer to correctly identify the original occupants of the Patel mansion (518 Crestview Dr) wins a very special prize! (2) The first reviewer to correctly explain the meaning behind Lester's "real name" (Lakshanya) also wins a very special prize! SO HAPPY HUNTING!! And as usual, if you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]**

**[A/N: Sarah's question, "Have you ever met an Indian named Lester?" is actually quote from Vic Sahay in an interview that he did about his character Lester Patel. What? Did you think I make this stuff up?]**


	16. HAWT Sweet Emotions part3

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader ever! **

**Sorry it's taken so long to get this out to you dear fans! **

**Special thanks to Joe! **This dear 'anonymous' fan reviewed Ch.15 not once but twice! If you want more Burning Man more often,this truthseekr is going to do something unusual. **If this story gets 50 reviews over the next 5 days**, the truthseekr remodeling projects will be set aside and **an update will be posted within 24 hours of the 50****th**** review**. That's right fans, the truthseekr will quit busting tile and finish typing the next installment just for you! Otherwise, expect the next update after the sledgehammer goes back in the woodshed in a couple weeks. If you really need your fix before then, you silent thousands who read this story just make your voices heard!

**Congratulations to extreme-stratusfaction and Notorious JMG for winning the prize from the last chapter! ES **correctly guessed that Lester's 'real' name('Lakshanya') means 'the one who achieves'. No doubt Lester's parent's impossible standards had something to do with naming him that! **JMG **was the first to correctly identify the original residents of the White Castle at 518 Crestview Drive—The Beverly Hillbillies.

Now let's continue that look into the Beverly Hillbillies Bollywood Style….

* * *

**Chapter 16— HAWT Sweet Emotions part 3—Payback and Payforward?**

"Now the real fun begins," Casey remarked as he closed the door to the van outside the Kumar Patel 'White Castle' Mansion in Beverly Hills. With a raised brow he looked at Chuck and started to hand him Lester's _Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! _DVD but then he smirked and tossed it over to Agent Walker.

"What? I thought we were going home. I really, really . . . ," the putrid-smelling nerd stopped for a moment and sniffed his jumpsuit before gagging.

". . . stink like a latrine." Casey responded while turning away to avoid the nerd's stench. "We can't leave yet. We still haven't confirmed whether the nancyboy knows anything."

"You didn't get the earwig?" Sarah asked through her jumpsuit while covering her nose with it.

"No, Walker, I thought after finding the amateur Patel porn stash of you and Ellie that you and Chuck deserved a little payback," Casey said leaning toward Sarah with a half-smirk until he realized that she smelled just as bad as the geek on the other side of the van.

"What'd you have in mind?" she smiled dropping her collar and forgetting her putrescence if for only a moment.

"I was thinking about pulling a Kent," Casey sniggered.

"What do you mean? A Clark Kent?" Chuck turned his head to the side not understanding the spy-speak.

"Not exactly," Sarah responded with a smirk back at Casey.

"You're kidding." Casey remarked in disbelief, "You mean the 'Computer Who Wore Tennis Shoes' over there isn't a 'Real Genius'?"

"Huh?"

"How is it possible that smarty _overalls_ over there doesn't know that movie?" The Major questioned.

Sarah raised her shoulders and shook her head. She recognized that it was possible that she was a bigger nerd in high school than the guy who grew up to fix computers for a living. But Casey on the other hand. . .

"He speaks Klingon, dresses up like a Sandworm, he's in the Nerd Herd for crying out loud?" Casey was clearly at a loss of understanding.

"It's okay Casey. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with us. We understand. . . you're not really a geek in green beret clothing," Sarah kidded with a half-curled lip and an arched brow.

"Nice one Sarah!" Chuck smiled.

Casey rolled his eyes and grunted too defensively to be believed as he made a visible production of double-checking the eavesdropping equipment in the van.

Chuck continued, "But, I still don't understand what you two are talking about."

"Guess you haven't found #1 after all Walker. Have you tried Skip Johnson yet?" Casey said under his breath. Apparently, the Major had seen the classic 80s nerd flick a _few _times. After all, it had some great military sequences, especially the laser popping a house full of popcorn.

Sarah heard him but decided to ignore Major Quip for the moment. She turned back to Chuck and remarked, "Next movie night—you'll see." She winked at him and a secret sigh of relief came over her when she realized--_thank goodness no animal movies for once_.

Chuck smiled back but as usual, he was impatient and he wanted to know what the Major had in store for Lester Patel. "Okay . . . but what's a Kent?"

"Let's just say that the little Indian pervert is about to find out who was speaking to him through that voice inside his head – and this time it ain't Madonna," Casey chuckled.

"Speaking of which, how did you know there would be something behind that poster?" Chuck asked.

"Well not every nerd has a Tron poster at their disposal now do they Chuck?" Casey chuckled as the nerd's smile sunk down along with the rest of his body in the passenger seat of the van.

* * *

Still splayed out on the orange partition couch, Lester was in and out of consciousness that was until a distorted voice shouted into his ear.

"Lester, Lester, Wake up Lester," said the voice.

"Wuh . . . happened?" Lester asked himself as he blinked his eyes deliberately a couple times.

"LESTER!"

The geek sat up quickly from the orange plush velvet partition couch upon the realization that the object of his secret obsession was plainly on display. For years, Lester had been privately obsessed with celebrity--his years of following the material girl herself had even led to his conversion to the Jewish sect, Kabbalah.

It didn't matter that he didn't know how to make Latkes—Big Mike didn't know any better when he chowed down on the delight. And it didn't matter that he didn't know the rules to Dreidel; no one else in the store did either and besides - it was a great way to skim cash from the green shirts. Which reminded him of his imminent dilemma thanks to his calls with Bunny. He really needed cash _now_.

And then an idea came to him--_ Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Boobies!_ He could sell the rights to the fourth edition of his classic homemade stash. After all, it was almost time for Spring Break and maybe the folks at _Girls Gone Wild _would be interested. He could see it now: _Girls Gone Wild in BuyMoria!_ Maybe he'd get to have auditions! _Sweet!_ Another opportunity for a. . . _casting couch_!

"Dare to dream baby!" he remarked as he walked over to his iMac and Madonna. As he typed in his password _C-O-N-E-S_, his eyes fixated on funnels that fronted his furtive fascination. Only nothing happened after he pressed 'enter'.

"I'm talking to you Lester," said the resonating voice inside his head.

Lester sat up straight in his chair and slowly looked over his shoulder around to corner of the basement apartment over to the Wheel of Misfortune. He looked back to his monitor and responded, "What is this?"

"I said, I'M TALKING TO YOU!" The voice boomed in his head.

"No," Lester remarked.

"YEAHHHHHHH!!!!" The diminutive little pervert jumped out of his chair.

"Well, I'm not asleep, . . . not asleep. I must be overworked," Lester responded nervously.

The voice laughed hysterically and then continued, "You are not overworked Lester."

"Well, I'm not insane . . . . , or am I?" Lester asked sheepishly.

"That remains to be seen Lester, but we are having a conversation."

Lester walked over to his fishnet hosed leg lamp and talked directly into it, "Okay, who is this?"

"This is . . . JESUS, Lester . . . and you've been a _very naughty boy_," the voice reverberated with particular emphasis.

"Alright who is this?" Lester knew better than that long-dead carpenter calling on him. He was a Jewish convert--not a gullible gentile heathen.

"Cut the crap Lester, you've got an earwig on."

Lester scrunched his brows in confusion. Then, eyes wide with sudden understanding, he reached up with both hands to check his ear canals and – yes! He remembered. He did have an earwig on. But how did _Jesus_ know? Who was _Jesus_ anyway? What Would _Jesus_ Do . . . to him?

Then the voice boomed once again with such force that it made the Kabballah boy jump.

"Who did you think you were communicating with?" the distorted voice asked.

"Earlier, I thought it was Jeff, but he denied it. Maybe it was that guy Casey at work--you know I caught him in the restroom with Chuck—_in the same stall_," Lester responded looking up at the ceiling.

"Where's Casey now?" the voice responded almost snickering.

"I don't know but that guy is seriously creepy. Have you seen how he watches Chuck at work? He's got a serious crush on him. I even overheard him mention something about following him to a tournament of some sort on the 27th but I don't know where it is, he just said it was a classy find."

From inside the van, Sarah and Casey looked at Chuck a bit perplexed, that was until Chuck put it all together and whispered back "_class-i-fied_."

"What?" Lester asked clearly having heard the voice inside his head mutter something.

"Oh . . . uh, . . . nothing." The voice responded and continued, "I want you to think about what you have done."

Lester nodded his head.

"And from now on stop playing with yourself," the voice instructed.

Lester's eyes widened. In the background, he heard a muffled comment.

"Oh. . . and stop taking pictures of Chuck's sister and girlfriend."

"It is God," Lester quietly responded to himself under his breath.

He looked around but couldn't find his yarmulke. And so he ran over to kitchenette and grabbed the next best thing—a coffee filter from his Mr. Coffee. He put it on his head, turned around the poster to reveal the true object of his affection. As he looked up to the Madonna Blond Ambition tour poster next to his wall he remarked, "You're the only woman for me. I promise I'll never do _that_ again."

* * *

"I have to say this, we should _never_ do that again," Chuck remarked as they walked back into the courtyard of the Echo Park apartment complex.

"Mission's over Chuck, the plan went just fine," Casey responded still trying to keep the smell from the other two members of his plumbing team from offending his olfactory senses.

"Yeah, except your plan necessitated that we do actual plumbing and for the record none of us knows actually how to plumb," Chuck could still smell his own stench. He looked down and continued, "We're gonna burn these jumpsuits right?"

"I second Chuck's motion, no more plumbing on future missions," Sarah agreed looking up to Casey.

"You gone soft Walker?" Casey shifted his stare from Sarah to Chuck and back to Sarah. He continued, "It doesn't matter. Beckman got the intel she wanted. Bunch of nancys." Casey said with a scrunched scowl as he walked over to his apartment to report their success to Beckman in heading off the Lester threat.

Sarah turned back to Chuck. They were alone at last, well except for the surveillance feeds on the courtyard and the millions of bacteria that probably inhabited the jumpsuits thanks to the Patel toilet explosion. Still, it was her first opportunity since that morning to talk to him and the truth was she didn't want to see him go.

"You need to change at Casey's?" she asked taking the monkey wrench off her shoulder and leaning forward toward him. Even as bad as they both looked and _smelled_, she couldn't help herself but think about getting him out of that jumpsuit and having a repeat performance of the "Rootin' Raspberry Hi-C" shower off.

"Uh, no thanks. Actually Ellie and Awesome are out of town looking at a wedding site . . ." Chuck responded as Sarah looked him up and down at the suggestion.

He continued, ". . . so I'm good to shower . . . a couple hundred times." Chuck plainly missed her signals obviously distracted by something . . . perhaps it was the smell.

She chuckled and smiled back at him, "Umm, okay. I'll see you tomorrow?" She tried to ask nonchalantly but her real intent shone through in her question. Of course, the look of longing in her eyes was completely missed by the object of her desire.

Or was it?

While Sarah was thinking primarily in the moment, Chuck was thinking about the long-term implications of her question. He wanted to see her tomorrow and all the days that followed. He wanted to be with her and the only way he knew that it could happen involved getting that blasted computer out of his head. As much as he wanted the Intersect gone in order for him to have a chance at a normal life, he really wanted it gone to have a chance at having a life _with her. _These thoughts almost consumed him. Instead of answering her question simply, he returned hers with a question--the question that would perhaps lead him to the desired path that he wanted to take with her. He asked, "Sarah have you heard anything from Beckman about Orion?"

Sarah's smile dropped. Couldn't he just say 'yes'? What is this obsession with Orion? Ever since Chuck had tracked down Perseus at his lab at Constellation Sciences a few weeks ago, all he could think about, talk about, was finding Orion. Was she now going to have to track down every nebulous scientist or wayward fugitive named after some far off system in the night sky before he realized that the one heavenly body he really needed was shining right there in front of him? Only now, the light in her eyes was definitely fading fast.

"Not yet." she answered with a sigh tilting her head to the side. Then she continued, "These things take time."

"Gotcha, good." He blankly responded staring directly into her. He averted his eyes and then continued with a half-smile looking for reassurance, "She gets how important it is though, right? I mean you know if we could find Orion, I could get these secrets out of my head and go back to my normal life."

"She gets it Chuck. We all do." Sarah strictly responded. Why was he always pushing for this 'normal life'? Why couldn't he just accept things as they were? But then she knew the answer. He couldn't accept that she could never be 'his' – not in the way that he wanted her to be. No, she corrected herself – in the way _they_ wanted to be.

"You want that too, right?" Chuck's question lingered.

"Of course, I do Chuck," she responded defensively but corrected herself before revealing too much. "Of course, I mean . . . you deserve that."

"Great, great, that's great. I mean I've only seen that little bit of Beckman's office behind her chair but uh . . . I can only imagine she's got the whole crack squad of brilliant analysts working hard trying find Orion in the next room."

"Chuck, leave the search for Orion up to the team of brilliant analysts. You need to get some sleep." Sarah instructed. He looked down at her and delivered a mock salute as if to signal that he understood her direction.

But even after everything that happened that night, Chuck disregarded his handler's instructions and continued his search. He needed to find Orion; his future with Sarah depended on it. Little did he know that his search for this someone that he didn't know would actually turn out to be someone who knew him better than he knew himself.

* * *

Hong Kong 7:13 p.m.

"Pulling a late night are we?" Steve Bartowski thought as the locator beacon on his network confirmed a hit from Echo Park, California. It must have been just after 4 a.m. on the U.S. Pacific coast.

"Let's see who's trying to find us today." After he took a quick pull from his scotch and set it down, he began to type on the laptop in front of him. The results didn't look like the typical NSA, British SIS, or Chinese Guoanbu search. Maybe it was Fulcrum or Triad. He wasn't sure but there seemed to be no limit on the people that were looking for him these days. He continued to analyze the results with his mind as his fingers did the work.

Steve was all too familiar with the concept of living off the radar, he had lived that life for so long that he had often forgotten what it was like to have a real conversation with someone without having to engage the comic-book like persona of his alter-ego. Still, he never forgot the reason that he assumed this role and left everyone he cared for behind—it was for their own safety. And now his own safety could be in question. He finished typing and hit 'enter'.

In an instant, he had command of the web-cam of the computer that had initiated the search. On his monitor he saw the back of a tall moppy-headed young guy. But what was he looking at? It appeared to be a hand-drawn diagram on a poster of some sort. Steve could barely make out a rough drawing of . . . a grid-like room. What was that? And who was this guy? He needed to know. Then, the guy turned around to face the screen and camera.

Steve was speechless. Could it be _him? _Was that his son, Chuck? The facial recognition software on his screen read, 'IDENTITY NOT CONFIRMED'. Still he knew it _had_ to be him. He didn't need a software program to tell him who his son was. He'd known that face ever since the day he came into his world. Then he heard him speak . . .

"Why are you on?"

The 'guy' on the other side of the camera had just finished his own thought. It was so strange to hear that voice for the first time in well over a decade. It was much deeper than the last time he heard it.

But why did he hit on his security net? For all Chuck knew, his dad was just a crazy old man who left his kids and moved to the desert never to be heard from again. Steve winced, there was more truth in that thought than even he cared to recognize.

Besides, he had given his son all the clues that he needed to find him years ago (i.e . the fortune cookie saying, the pay-per-view movie, the pears, the bracelet, and even the birthday card from Vegas). So why was Chuck looking for him via an automated web search? It just didn't make sense.

Steve pulled up the data set of search terms: Busgang, CIA, Graham, NSA, Fulcrum, Intersect, and Orion. 'Busgang?' Why was he looking for Howie Busgang? 'CIA' and 'Graham'? Langston Graham? The guy had been dead for almost a year now. But it was the last two search terms that really caught Steve's attention—'Intersect' and 'Orion'.

His eyes widened upon the realization that Chuck wasn't searching for his father. His son was looking for . . . _Orion_. But why? Why would Chuck be looking for the 'creator' of a government project that had been officially shutdown years ago? Why would Chuck be looking searching for for the _very_ thing that had caused him to sacrifice so much? Why would Chuck be openly seeking the burden of the technology that he had _created_? These questions puzzled him.

The last time this happened, Chuck was about to be recruited into Project Omaha. It had been no surprise that Chuck had aced his old friend — George Flemming's Psychology class. The only surprise was that his son — an engineering major — was taking the class at all. As a courtesy, George informed Steve about Chuck's subliminal image test results (i.e. the Project Omaha — the Intersect Propensity Tests), but he wouldn't invalidate the results. George did the next best thing though. He put Steve in touch with Chuck's roommate: Bryce Larkin.

Larkin was already in the program. As much as Steve didn't trust former, current, or even _future_ government agents, Larkin seemed to have Chuck's best interest at heart. And it didn't take much to convince the kid that Chuck shouldn't be involved. For assurances that his son would be kept out of the program, Steve traded the original Intersect designs to the government. It was a small price to pay for his son's safety. And brokering the exchange probably didn't hurt Larkin's career either.

But why was Fulcrum also in Chuck's search string? Steve was all too aware of Fulcrum's efforts to build an Intersect. _Amateurs, _he chuckled. The backdoors he had built into Ted Roark's original OS had given him undetected access to thwart the development of the 'Dark Intersect' for years. It was the very reason he was in Hong Kong, to throw Fulcrum and its lapdog Vincent Smith off his trail.

Something wasn't adding up. Steve ran back the footage from the web-cam back to the poster and froze the image. He enhanced it and focused in on the hand-written words. . . '_The Intersect Room_'. To the right of the grid-like drawing he saw a NSA badge with the words 'Major John Casey, Asset Protection' with a Buy More name badge. To the left of the drawing there was a news clip of . . . _Bryce Larkin_. Did Larkin end up recruiting Chuck after all? Great. He knew better than to trust a government agent, especially one who _claimed_ to be his son's best friend.

Above the newspaper article was a copy of a . . . CIA identification badge. Even with the enhanced resolution Steve couldn't be sure, but the woman looked familiar. But it wasn't the ID badge that struck him so much as the two words below it: "My Handler". Chuck's _handler_? What had Chuck gotten himself into?

He zoomed out and moved over just to the right of those words. He increased the image resolution and refocused it to reveal . . . '_ORION' . . ._ written prominently above the hand-drawn 'The Intersect Room'. How did this happen? After everything Steve had done, after all he had sacrificed, was it possible that his efforts had been in vain? Had Chuck become the Intersect?

Steve sighed as he clicked on the screen and moved back to real time. He reached out his hand to touch the monitor momentarily as if to apologize to his son for not protecting him from this burden. Still, it was good to see that face again. He checked his voice recognition software and confirmed that he had the full recording of Chuck's voice. His melancholy was replaced with a slight chuckle when he noticed Chuck was still tapping on his web-cam. "My boy! The first thing I'm going to teach you is that trick." Hijacking a web-cam was easy, almost as easy as overriding surveillance feeds.

Before he could head too far down hacker memory lane, Steve was jolted back to the present when he heard the distinctive sounds of walkie-talkies and men coming up the stairs of the Hong Kong hostel where he was holed up. It was time to move. He keyed a few commands, took one last look at his son, and then pressed 'Enter'. The screen went blank. Steve stood up and pulled his jacket sleeve back from his wrist to reveal a miniature keyboard computer attached to his forearm. He swiftly typed a few commands to the hostel lobby to ensure that everyone (save the Fulcrum lackeys) made it out of the building quickly. He leaned down to grab his bag and exited the room out the back and swiftly moved down the fire escape.

He skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, typing in the GPS coordinates for the hostel. He quickly hailed a cab, instructing the driver to head to Chek Lap Koh Airport. From the back of the cab, he remembered that he had just left a 60-year MacCutcheon scotch in his room. Under normal circumstances he would have cursed the Fulcrum punks that distracted him long enough to leave the bottle. This time though, he couldn't help his sardonic grin. The drink was just the distraction he needed. He began to type again:

_A DRINK? IT'S BEEN A HARD DAY FOR FULCRUM. IT'S GOING TO GET WORSE._

The distinctive sound of a Predator drone whizzed overhead as the cab made its way toward the airport. Steve smiled to himself as he thought about how handy those encryption keys had been from that Prism Express Laptop. He wished he could have paid the stoner back that gave it him at The Burning Man festival. Instead, he would just have to 'pay it forward'. He turned to look out the back windshield as the hostel became smaller and smaller – that was until it went up in flames and the Fulcrum agents with it. Steve smiled a small yet satisfied smile. What a day.

He came to this far away land to lose Fulcrum and, in the process he found his son.

* * *

**[How did Steve think up the idea for the Intersect? What does Sarah do when she finds herself caught in the employee breakroom? And now that Lester has had a 'Come to Jesus' moment will he actually change his nefarious ways? All of this and more in part 4 of HAWT Sweet Emotions as we continue the **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man**_** anthology].**

**[A/N: If you are like Chuck and haven't had the pleasure of watching the 'Kent' from the classic nerd flick 'Real Genius' check out: www . youtube . com / watch?v=sf-5RaFnh2U ]**

**[For this chapter's bit of interactive goodness, who can tell me where Steve 'found' the 60-year McCutcheon? The most creative review will win this week's prize!]**


	17. HAWT Sweet Emotions part4

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader and technical advisor on all things technical (i.e. computers for the dim-witted like me)!**

**Congratulations to Notorious JMG! **He correctly identified that papa Bart's 60-year McCutcheon was a Lost reference in Ch.16. If he wins the prize for this chapter, perhaps a set of Sarah Walker ninja knives are in order!

**This chapter is dedicated to my pal** **Poa!** She is perhaps the best publicist I never realized that I had. Poa spent the weekend peddling this crazy story on the _Chuck vs. The GoogleGroup_ site in an attempt to make me set aside my home improvement projects and post an update sooner. It worked my friend! So thanks to her and all you wonderful reviewers, this chapter is for each of you! If you haven't had a chance to visit the GoogleGroup but you love enlightening and fun discussions about Chuck and fanfic, check it out!

**Now on with the story. . .**

* * *

**Chapter 17— HAWT Sweet Emotions part 4—The Best Laid Plans Of Nerds And Men**

Somewhere over the Pacific. . . 

Steve pondered over what he had learned that day. His son had two government agents protecting him. Chuck probably worked at a Buy More with the male agent as a cover. But most importantly, Chuck might be the Intersect. If he was the Intersect, Chuck was going to need more protection than those two agents could provide.

Steve looked out the window of the jet and thought about how another aircraft, the Predator, had really saved him that evening. As the ancient 707 leveled off, he reached into his bag and pulled out the rebuilt Prism Express laptop. It didn't have the distinctive logo or even the sticker that once labeled it as 'Property of Roark Industries'. No, Steve had completely upgraded it months ago.

To accompany the Predator encryption keys (which gave its user excellent defensive capabilities), he had also installed voice and facial recognition software, an organic LED display, sixteen over-clocked processor cores, a one terabyte SSD hard drive and his secret weapon – the 'Arachnid'. An advanced communication module of his own design, the 'Arachnid' was programmable, frequency agile, and able to automatically establish multiple, redundant network links across almost any broadcast medium it could detect, including hundreds of wireless phone networks worldwide, as well as satellite data networks and even poorly secured consumer Wi-Fi equipment. Like its namesake, this module gave the laptop a powerful 'web' of connections that acted as both its antennae and, when needed, its fangs.

To power all of this hardware he replaced the lithium-ion battery with hydrogen fuel cells. They let the system run an exceptionally long time when untethered, even though they did require a special kind of recharging. And, topping it all off, he replaced the outer casing with a liquid-cooled, titanium alloy housing that was lightweight yet structurally strong. The computer was truly one of a kind.

In the right hands, the laptop was capable of overriding military defenses and even hijacking computerized weaponry anywhere in the world. It was a powerful tool for protecting the 'common good'. Steve grimaced. If what he suspected was right, that there was a very important example of the 'common good' asleep in Echo Park right now, unaware of the amount of danger he was in. He looked down at the laptop, idly gliding his thumb along the edge of its smoothly machined case. _It could help him__. _This computer could give him an advantage that no one else had to know about. Steve expected to ponder on it for awhile, but after only a few moments of a mostly one-sided internal debate, he had his answer: His first order of business when he got back state-side would be to send this creation of his to Chuck for his protection.

But where should he send it? Using the laptop, he scrolled down a list of recent exploits and found one that might be particularly useful–the U.S. Internal Revenue Service database. There, he found his son's tax records. Sure enough, Charles I. Bartowski had worked at the Burbank Buy More for the past five years. He copied the address and prepared the laptop for an early morning delivery. He also wrote a short program that he sent all of the active computers in the Buy More. If Chuck sat down at any of those screens, as soon as he spoke the voice recognition program would prompt a message letting him know that the computer was on its way.

If for some reason this plan didn't work, he needed another way for Chuck to reach him. Perhaps if Orion couldn't meet him, maybe Chuck could find his dear old dad instead. He needed a backup plan to allow Chuck to find him more easily but not that easy. He looked at the AirFone attached to the seat in front of him and smiled. Perfect. It was about time that that guy Sweet Cheeks' satellite phone would come in handy. All Steve had to do was move his Airstream Overlander where he wanted to be found and then make a call using his given name. He knew that there was no way that ECHELON wouldn't intercept that call. After all, 'Stephen J. Bartowski' was one of the original spook phrases programmed into that system.

Steve's gaze lingered on the phone in front of him. He wished he could just call Chuck and be honest with him. But what would Chuck think? He snickered. What would _any_ rational person think? It would be just like Chuck's dear, old and crazy dad to show up out of the blue after over 13 years and reveal that he's the all great and powerful Orion—creator of the Intersect. There was _no way_ Chuck would believe him. Besides, Chuck wasn't looking for his dad, Chuck was looking for Orion.

Steve settled back into his seat and plugged the headphones into the jack on the armrest. A classic movie from the late 1980s was cued for the in-flight entertainment--_No Way Out._ It had been years since he'd seen that film but he remembered that night as if it was yesterday. They had hired a babysitter and went out for a rare date night. He sighed at the remembrance. God, he missed her. He wished things could've been different. That she could've stayed. But, he understood the sacrifice she made, not unlike the one he made later. They both had a higher calling—not necessarily to protect their country, but to protect their progeny.

In the hard times he remembered to focus on the good memories--like that date night back in the fall of 1987. They were both so enthralled with the twists and turns of that political thriller—but for vastly different reasons. She enjoyed the intrigue and intelligence underpinnings. He loved the gadgetry which furthered the action and investigation. When she leaned into him just as an experimental photo analyzer dramatically revealed a hidden subject, he had a "Eureka!" moment. Point in fact; it was the "Eureka!" moment. The idea that wouldn't leave him be. The idea that changed everything. The idea that _became _the Intersect.

It had been such a simple idea in the movie. The systems analyst raced against time to recover a latent image on a badly damaged Polaroid camera negative. But Steve took the idea further. He thought that instead of trying to recover a single latent image on a damaged negative, what if many images could purposely be embedded in a photograph as a data storage mechanism?

He remembered the reassuring look in his wife's eyes; how it felt when she wrapped her arm inside his during their walk home, all while he babbled on about his idea. She always had a straightforward way of getting to the heart of his rambling thoughts and on that night she didn't disappoint him. He would never forget what she told him:

"You know what they say, 'a picture is worth a thousand words.'"

On the plane's projection screen, the movie's production company logo appeared. He chuckled. Maybe that's why she selected the moniker for him in the first place. He didn't know and she never told him. He'd always thought she had based it on some classic mythology or night sky reference. But in truth, that idea always seemed 'off' for her. It didn't matter now and he never made a production of it. With his ideas and her encouragement—he became _Orion_ and he developed the Intersect.

* * *

Meanwhile in Burbank. . . 

The Indian of BuyMoria arrived at the electronics store in his typical native dress—black pants, white pressed short-sleeved button-up shirt, grey tie, and breakway Nerd Herd badge attached to his belt. As he waded through the mounds of trash and toilet paper, a voice resonated from the speakers of the Burbank Buy More:

_. . . . . . . . . . Some people have a deep abiding respect for the natural beauty that was once this country. And some people don't. People start pollution. People can stop it.. . . . . . . . . . _

The Native BuyMorian couldn't help but be overwhelmed with all that had happened. Before he knew it a single tear welled up in his right eye and trickled ever so slowly down his cheek. It was a moving scene, something that was the stuff of classic television commercials from the 1970s. The kind of thing that . . . was _actually playing_ on the wall of televisions thanks to TVLand airing a series of Keep America Beautiful Campaign ads.

But the diminuitive Indian wasn't shedding that lone tear due to the mess he was supposed to clean up. No, he was thinking more about the mess he had outside of BuyMoria. First there was the Bunny phone sex bill. Second, Jesus murdered his computer. And finally, the worst tragedy of all--his _Boobies!_ _Boobies! Boobies! Boobies!_ DVD had been kidnapped. A bona fide Bollywood tragedy was playing and Lester Patel was its unfortunate star.

With a renewed stoicism, the Indian walked over to the center aisle where his frequent partner in perversion was standing. He didn't know how he was going to tell Jeff that the fourth edition of their amateur porn classic was no more. Just as he was about to explain their predicament, the ex offico leader of the land of BuyMoria came up behind them.

"Wuh? When did this happen?" Chuck asked.

"During the night," Lester responded. Of course, he was primarily talking about the missing porn but then he caught himself and realized that Chuck didn't know about mammary cam version 4.0. No, he corrected himself, Chuck was talking about the massive quantities of Charmin that had taken up residence on the product displays, light fixtures, aisles, and even the Nerd Herd Technical Support desk.

"Look on the bright side we don't have to buy T.P. for. . . like years," Lester remarked silently wondering how much would re-wrapped toilet paper go for on-line. He was getting desperate.

"Why start now?" Jeff remarked. Lester turned to him wide-eyed for a moment. He'd always thought it was strange that Jeff didn't keep any bona-fide cold ones in the toilet where he kept his stash of chilled Yoo-Hoos and Cream Sodas. But then a very twisted light went off in Lester's head. The T.P. holders were the perfect size to stash an emergency sixer. As misophobic as the starched-and-pressed Indian was personally, he knew his bestie's limits. Jeff would never part with his beloved Van Buren ale—the best beer, well, the only beer that retailed for $2.99 a six-pack.

* * *

LAX

'_Catch me if you can, you rat bastards_,' he silently thought as he sat inconspicuously off to the side of the bar. Steve blended in easily with the various businessmen and travelers in the LAX airport lounge, most of whom were idly watching the opening rounds of the Puerto Rico Open. He didn't give a birdie about the golf tournament on the television. Instead, he had his eye focused on the mirrored wall just to the right and behind the screen. As he sipped his drink, he saw a gang of men rush by all dressed in black suits, white shirts, and black ties. They ran right by the lounge and toward the old plane that Steve had just disembarked from—Pan Am flight 27. To both trained and casual observers, these men appeared to be government G-men. However, Steve knew better. He had picked up some chatter through one of the backdoors of Fulcrum's central intelligence servers just as the plane landed alerting him that a Fulcrum team was on its way.

"Amateurs," he remarked under his breath not paying attention to the television in front of him.

The suit next to him looked over and corrected, "I think these guys are the pros."

"Really? Could'a fooled me," Steve said finishing off his drink while standing up and grabbing his bag.

"What's your handicap then?" the guy swirled around on his barstool asking Steve as he made his way out of the lounge.

"I've got a computer for a brain," the elder Bartowski muttered hitting a couple buttons on his forearm and not stopping to look back over his shoulder.

* * *

Back in Burbank. . . 

The Nerd Herder who most definitely didn't have a computer for a brain was two-stepping toward the employee break room. The nerd pulled out a compact and flashed the mirror around the corner to ensure that the coast was clear. The key was not to get caught; otherwise the geek would surely end up with a broom, mop or worse, a feather duster, in no time.

Besides, if spotted, the olive-skinned nerd would have to explain the compact in _his_ hands and he just didn't think his co-workers would understand how crucial it was not to have a shiny nose under the unforgiving lighting that illuminated the Nerd Herd technical support desk. He put the compact back in his pocket and stealthfully craned his neck around the door to survey the scene. From his stakeouts with Jeff he knew that he could never be too careful. There was no telling who might be watching. But the room appeared empty. The coast was clear, or so he thought.

As he tiptoed into the room, he reveled in the fact that he had avoided getting roped into cleaning up the store yet again. Morgan might've thought he had mad work avoidance skills but the bearded manboy was only a green belt. Whereas this effeminate little nancyboy was truly the Master of the most sought after Martial Arts discipline in the entire land of BuyMoria--Lester Patel had a black belt in store cleanup avoidance.

Jeff might have his own office, Morgan might have his beard, Chuck might have the smoking hot blonde, but Lester knew that his fanciful moves were legendary, well, at least in his own mind.

He even had a signature move—the 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Lester'. It began from a bent crouch, followed by a stealthful head raise around the corner or above to scan the BuyMoria horizon. Retreating back down, followed by a swift body roll giving way to a ground crawl, and then ending in an all-out sprint on all fours. He had tried to teach the little green belt this move when the Mighty Jocks infiltrated the Home Theater Room in the fall. Unfortunately for Morgan, Sensei Patel had neglected to tell him that day that while the 'Crouching Tiger' only took a moment to learn, it took a lifetime to perfect.

He also knew that the real key to avoiding work was to look busy when hiding was not an option. His current mission involved both skills. He had already escaped the retail floor undetected. Now Lester was going to 'look busy'. He made a bee-line for his locker because he had conveniently 'forgotten' earlier to refrigerate his lunch. He successfully dialed the combination ('36-24-36'), opened the door, and removed his black 'Phrada' messenger bag. He took his lunch from the manpurse placing it on the table next to him. And then, he carefully returned the knock-off couture back to his locker.

He took his 'lunch' over to the employee refrigerator. Before opening the bottom crisper he grabbed a few paper towels. There was no way he was touching anything that could be growing on the handle of _that_ drawer. He carefully eased the various containers from Benny's, Sbarro's, Lou's, and. . . "Dear lord, was that a. . . _Weinerlicious wrapper_?"

The prissy little Indian could feel the bile in his stomach creep up into his esophagus and to the back of his throat. He swiftly placed his free hand to his mouth in an effort to keep everything within from coming out. He looked down again and noticed that the green and white powdery crusted corndog had a bite missing. It had to be at least a year old, the corndog—not the bite. "Good god. Morgan really will eat anything."

Strangely, the unwrapped Twinkie sitting next to it had maintained its sunshiny yellow exterior as pristine as the day it was placed in the Mystery Crisper. He remembered the occasion well--the 91st Twinkie. It was a trophy of sorts, one that symbolized the completion of perhaps the most dangerous feat ever completed in the land of BuyMoria. He still remembered the wild look in the eyes of 'Cool Hand Jeff' when he proved that one nerd could, in fact, eat 90 Twinkies. Lester had made a lot of scratch that day. Too bad the green shirts wouldn't fall for 'Twinkie Con' again, he thought. Lester knew he was running out of options and he really needed to figure out a way to pay his $3700 phone bill.

Back to the task at hand, with a paper towel covered hand he eased the half-eaten moldy corn dog to the side and made some space in the crisper. It was the perfect spot to dispose of the left-over Pork Vindaloo that his cousin's wife had insisted that he take with him to work. He wished he could just tell them not to cook the forbidden meat but he doubted that they would understand about Madonna and his new-found faith in Kabbalah.

Completely distracted by his thoughts of the material girl of his dreams, Lester didn't notice as another beautiful blonde quietly made her way out from behind the employee lockers. She had checked the room from the interior monitor next to the entrance before she entered, only she hadn't seen the diminutive Indian crouched down behind the refrigerator door.

"I need your advice, oh my blonde bombshell." Lester said to himself barely above the range of a prayerful whisper as he shut the crisper.

Her ears perked at attention as she side-stepped her way into the break room. Sarah Walker realized that she was _not_ alone. She had to act fast. She considered stepping back in the passageway. There was no time. She leaned against the lockers, effectively shutting the entrance. Then she turned a keen eye toward the source of the voice she'd just heard.

It was Lester—the pervert who had taken all the pictures of her, well, at least parts of her. She reached behind her back to her waistband. It was time to make him pay and she knew just what to do. Her hand glided to her Smith & Wesson 5906 . . . and then past it, hesitating only briefly (she _did_ want to shoot him for videotaping her on all those occasions). But, with a wicked smile, she continued down pulling the back of her tank top taut, effectively making the trademark 'O' on her Orange Orange head down even further toward her navel. She knew what her best weapons were with this little Indian pervert. They had proven quite effective a year ago in the Weinerlicious when she and Chuck broke up the first time. It was now time to give the nerd the tease of his life.

"How can I help you?" she asked, letting her sky blue fleece inch off the edge of her left shoulder as she walked seductively toward Lester.

"Hi. . . uh. . . Sarah," Lester asked trying hard not to focus down on the two things he usually focused on – hidden camera or no camera.

Now was her chance to see whether the instructions from '_Jesus_' had changed the ways of the Indian convert to Judaism. She dropped her other shoulder and her fleece fell down. "Ohh, Hi _Larry_," she remarked in her seductive school girl voice.

"It's Lester, but you know that right?" he yammered timidly as beads of sweat were already forming on the nerd's brow.

"Oh right, _Larry_, what's wrong? I haven't seen you playing around with your camera lately," smiled the siren temptress, shifting her weight back and forth to draw even more attention to the objects of the pervert's hidden desires.

"You know, it's … uh….broken," he lamented first at the nice pair that God had given her and then raising his eyes back up to hers before he looked away nervously.

"Oh that's too bad," she mockingly pouted leaning even closer to him.

"Uh. . .huh. . . Wait, no, I uh. . .I've given up amateur por. . . um…_photography_," he corrected himself just in time as he put a finger to his collar.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and he continued, "I've been _focusing_ . . ." his elevator eyes moved down again. They convened at the valley where the letter 'O' rested between the heavenly mountains of flesh before him, "O, Ohhhh, on . . ." he was visibly struggling to think of something, anything other than the objects of his obsession that teased him.

"Yes?" the nerd charmer sashayed closer.

He stepped back and in the process glanced away over at this locker and the Jeffster sticker on it, "Oh. . . on . . . on our band—Jeffster. Yeah, that's right, we're working hard on getting a couple new gigs . . . Chuck's sister's wedding, we hope." He nodded and swiftly continued to step back further into the recesses of the break room running into one of the tables and tripping over a chair in the process.

"Well, don't work too hard, _Larry_," she said as she moved away from him and sauntered towards the door. She turned on one heel and looked over her shoulder at him with low eyes, "You know what they say _Larry_, all work and no play makes _Lester_ a pretty dull boy."

Seductress Sarah spun back and walked off toward the store floor. If the smirk on her face could be translated into the thought that entered her mind at that moment, the transcript would've read, '_He never had a chance'_.

"That's what I say!" Lester yelped as she continued down the hall not turning back.

"Wait. . . did she just call me _Lester_?" he muttered to himself. Answering his own question, he grinned, "She did." The small previously unknown organ inside his chest skipped a beat as he skipped over to his locker opening it to reveal the print of Madonna on inside door. He looked around to ensure that he was still by himself. Then he took the picture out and flipped it over to unveil the material girl's best kept secret—it was a picture of his true fascination, the girl who just revealed again how much she _totally wanted_ _him_. . . and this time she remembered his name.

* * *

Back in BuyMoria another nerd was about to be enticed by the allure of something just beyond his reach. . . 

Chuck was alone at the Nerd Herd Technical Support Desk clearing the toilet paper wrapped around the computer console. He couldn't help but wonder where Jeff and Lester had gotten off to. Those two guys worked harder at getting out of work than Morgan did. He figured they were probably in Jeff's office and if they were, there was no way that he was going in there, not after Lester's freak out with the earwig the day before. Well, at least there wouldn't be any more mammary cam photos of his sister or Sarah floating along on Lester's screen saver.

Even though the Indian pervert had clearly crossed the line, Chuck couldn't help but think about how he had deliberately crashed the guy's computer. It just wasn't in Chuck's nature to kill, maim, or destroy things, regardless of whether they had a heartbeat or not. And along those lines, it was hard to miss that something didn't look right on the monitor in front of him. He tapped on the screen and remarked, "Huh. Are you feeling okay computer?"

In an instant the voice recognition software kicked into gear and the following words appeared:

I . . . KNOW . . . YOUR . . . SECRET.

With a spurious laugh, Chuck _knew_ that the missing link--Jeffster must be responsible. Nice joke, stalkers. "Yeah, okay, who's doing this? Your cleverness has been noted."

But Chuck didn't get the answer he was expecting. Instead, a different message popped up.

YOU'RE . . . THE. . . INTERSECT.

His grin dropped, followed by his jaw. This was no Jeffster prank. His eyes widened as the stress pit in his stomach churned. He couldn't take his eyes off the monitor. He sat there frozen hanging on the revelation of his now not-so-secret secret. Who was sending this message? How were they doing it? What should he do about it? Before Chuck could think of how to even start analyzing any of these questions, the words faded out and were replaced with:

WE . . . HAVE . . . TO . . . MEET.

Again, the same questions rushed through his mind. But instead of verbalizing them, a different bug in his brain took over--his curiosity. For a moment he didn't care who was sending it, how they were sending it or what he should do about it. He was going to let this dialogue play out just as it was. He responded by turning the statement into a question, the question. . . Why.

"Why are we meeting?" Chuck answered meekly, his voice trailing away.

BECAUSE. . . I'M. . . . ORION.

What? Orion? He knew it. He had found him! Or better yet, he had let Orion find him. But how did he do this? Chuck really wanted answers and he couldn't believe the bombshell that had just been dropped before him. He shrunk down closer to the screen with a questioning brow and asked, "You can hear me?"

Only this time the message on the screen did not correspond with his question.

THIS . . .COMPUTER . . .IS . . . NOT . . ..

SECURE. . . FOR . . . LONG. . . . .

I'M . . . . SENDING. . . .ONE. . . OF . . . MINE. . .

TO. . . YOUR. . . CURRENT. . . LOCATION.

The message faded to black and the Nerd Herd logo popped across to the center of the screen. That's it? Are you kidding? How did he do that? What should he do now? And what did he mean about this computer not being secure? That couldn't be the end of the message. Question after question raced through his mind. And Chuck couldn't believe that was it.

"Wait, hello, hello," Chuck tapped the side of the monitor.

"Hey Chuck!" Sarah said approaching him from behind.

The nerd yelped jumping out of his chair and spinning around to face her.

"Hi, hi, hi, uh, Sarah," he said nervously. How long had she been standing there?

"What? _What is it_?" she responded, her initially benign expression changing to one of more serious intent.

"Um..." Chuck licked his lips nervously turning to the monitor and back toward her with a furrowed brow, "There's something that I should probably tell you."

* * *

Now that the work was done. . . 

'How was he going to tell Chuck?' Lester wondered. He knew that he should tell Chuck, but how? How would he tell Chuck that his girlfriend wanted _him_? He'd never had a girl remember his name before, well, other than Bunny (but that was because she was charging him). He sighed. Chuck would have to wait. He needed to get back to the business at hand. He needed to figure out a way to pay his cell phone bill.

Lester closed his locker and looked at his watch. Surely the Buy Morons would have the store T.P. free by now. He walked back toward the sales floor. Again, he pulled out his handy compact; there was no way he was going to get stuck cleaning up toilet paper left by Barklay and his Beverly Hills bozos. Still, Lester agreed with Barklay on at least one thing: Working in Burbank did sometimes seem to be a crime. He thought for a moment. A nerd herder at the Beverly Hills Buy More had to make more than $11 an hour. Maybe he could make up the difference by working there. He needed to get cracking on updating his resume and his Wikipedia entry.

Wait, what was he thinking? Sure, he was self-centered, self-absorbed, self-serving, and self-indulgent--all the things that made him the prototypical candidate for hire in Beverly Hills.

But, could he really abandon Jeff and Anna and the others who occupied the land in which he had come to call his home? "Absolutely!" he affirmed. The ass-kissing former Ass Man knew that he'd likely go back to turning tricks (magic tricks that is) if only he could earn a quarter more an hour. The effeminate little Indian was prepared to do whomever and whatever it took in order to pay his phone bill. Lester knew that if he didn't pay the debt, he'd likely be thrown to the curb by his cousin and then he'd be stuck shacking up with Jeff. And even though the lifer was his BFF, there were just some lines that Lester was not prepared to cross, particularly: (1) ferrets; (2) Vaseline; and (3) ferrets with Vaseline.

On the periphery, Lester noticed that the Nerd Herd desk was clean and free of T.P. Perfect. He put the compact back in his pocket and made his way back to the empty station. Maybe the store would move enough of the new R7 gaming laptops to increase his sales commission. Of course, then he'd have to sell something – and to sell merchandise he'd actually have to work. No, he needed a better plan because work was simply out of the question. He sat down at the desk and thought off into the distance. Then, it came to him. _Maybe_, he could _sell_ the Roark 7 prototype on Ebay or Craigslist. There was no telling how much a technophile geek would pay for that prototype. The fact that the nerd was even considering selling the biggest advance in gaming technology to come along in years was a sign as to how desperate the little man really was.

Lester continued to stare off into space as the rest of the employees cleared the toilet paper from the sales floor. He snapped out of his reverie when he heard the voice of a delivery courier state, "Delivery for Charles I. Bartowski."

Lester looked down at the package and blew out a long breath. "What is it?"

"It says electronics, Computer?" the courier asked looking up from his clipboard while raising his shoulders questioning the questioner.

"The Roark 7." He paused for a moment and realized in that fraction of a second that his plan could work. He didn't have to sell-out to the 90210-ers. "Take that Beverly Hills, I'm Chuck."

The messenger raised an eyebrow almost in disbelief that the little Indian could be a 'Charles', 'Chuck', or a 'Bartowski' for that matter, but he didn't question it. At least the guy's name wasn't something strange like Emmett, Morgan, or. . . Lester.

"Just. . . leave it with me." The self-serving nerd instructed. Nothing was going to come between him and the experience of a lifetime—to be the first to test the new Roark Instruments Operating System. And after that, if he was lucky, he'd find some techno-smuck who was willing to pay top dollar for it.

"Thanks." The courier responded and made his way out of the store.

As soon as the courier left, Lester grabbed the package and high-tailed it to Jeff's office. There was no way that Chuck was going to get his responsible hands on this sweet gift of electronic goodness.

If the Roark 7 was, in fact, all it was cracked up to be, the converted Jew might even forgive Jesus for murdering his iMac and kidnapping his _Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! _DVD. That laptop just might turn out to be the most divine payola the nerd had ever received.

* * *

**[How does Steve get the Intersect schematics to Chuck? Does Lester finally figure out how to pay his phone bill? And will Chuck ever start to trust Sarah again? All of this and more will be explored in the next chapter of _Chuck v. The Burning Man_].**

**[A/N: If you've never experienced the ad spoofed in scene 2 by BuyMoria's own native Indian, check out: www . youtube . com / watch?v=j7OHG7tHrNM ]**

**[For this chapter's bit of interactive goodness: (1) What movie referenced Pan Am flight 27?; and (2) Where did Chuck's mom get the idea for Steve's alter ego? Be the first to correctly guess each and win a sweet prize!]**


	18. HAWT Sweet Emotions part5

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta ever!**

**Congratulations to Utuu**! He was the first to correctly guess that Pan Am flight 27 was in "Catch Me If You Can" and that Steve's wife got the idea for his moniker from the Orion Productions logo at the beginning of "No Way Out"!

[A/N: I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter out. I had to focus my efforts on chapters 8-9 of the Authors Interest story, _Chuck v. The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Really Bad Day_. If you're a fan of funny fluff, find out there what happened when the punch at Morgan's luau was spiked with truth serum!]

_Now back to our irregularly scheduled fic already in progress…_

* * *

**Chapter 18— HAWT Sweet Emotions part 5—Cool, Calm, and Collected **

After the laptop of destiny was intercepted, the Buy More boys celebrated their victory late into the night… 

"Viva la Buy More!" cheered four of the five men in unison as the '86 Mitsubishi Delica Star Wagon made its way back to Burbank. The one responsible for first shouting this war cry of victory among the ne'er-do-wells silently stared off into the distance as the van made its way onto Burbank Boulevard.

"It's time to celebrate boys! Make a right, " Big Mike instructed, motioning for them to park in front of Jeffster's favorite watering hole.

"But I thought Benny's closed at midnight," Jeff lamented.

Big Mike pulled out his phone and made a call. "Jett, how are you? . . . Yep, it's Mike. . . Yes, it's been a while . . . How's Joan? . . . " The big man continued to listen.

"Big Mike knows Benny Jett? We are so in." Jeff ogled as his mouth began to water.

"Clearly, management has its privileges," Emmett cackled still on cloud nine after knocking down the entire DVD section of the Beverly Hills Buy More.

Still on the phone, Big Mike continued, "Uh huh. . . I see your car is still here. . . Yeah, we had a big night and need a place to celebrate. . . Oh don't worry about him, I'll take care of Jeff . . . Yeah, Lester too. . ."

The big man continued to listen and then looked over at his awkward assistant manager, "He'll be fine. You have my word. The man always passes out after his second wine cooler. . . Yep . . . wine coolers . . . I don't know. . . well, at least it ain't Zima." The big man bellowed, shaking all over as he laughed at his own joke.

Then he stopped for a moment with a renewed seriousness looking back at Morgan and said, "Yeah, I just wanted to have a drink with the family tonight. . ."

"Did he just say we are family?" Jeff asked.

"That's just because he's defiling Morgan's mother," Lester snidely remarked turning back to the rest of the van's occupants.

"You know what Shaggy? I've had enough of the Mystery Machine tonight. I'm going home," Morgan retorted while exiting the van. Lester hopped out behind him, his foul mood was stinking up the whole van.

"Don't go Morgan!" Jeff jumped out of the driver's seat and two-stepped to make up the distance created by the little bearded man. "If you go we won't get free beer. And if I don't get beer soon, I'll get the shakes." The all-too-sober nerd started shaking his hand palm up and fingers curled rhythmically just a little too close to his crotch.

"Umm, Jeffrey that's not . . . the kind of shakes you get from alcohol withdrawal," Lester said wide-eyed with a disgusted half-frown.

"_Grimes_. You're not thinking rationally," Emmett said climbing out of the van. The three nerds looked back at him and so he continued, "You are simply uncomfortable with the fact that Michael has been fornicating with your mother."

"Well, actually _Emmett_ . . . I'm more uncomfortable with the sound that he makes while he is on top of . . ." Morgan's voice trailed off biting his bottom lip unable to finish his sentence.

"Yes," Emmett interjected, "The man moans like a wounded sea lion."

"What?" Jeff and Lester questioned in unison.

"How'd you know?" Morgan asked, turning back to the meddlesome Ass Man.

"Your mother came over one morning while you were off having your daily conjugal with Anna in the employee break room."

"Whatever dude."

"You don't believe me?" Emmett huffed while reaching down into his jumpsuit to pull out his dictaphone. "Well, listen and learn." Emmett then hit play and a familiar song began, followed by a familiar voice.

___. . . . . . . . . . I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you  
. . . . . . . . . . I know you were right believing for so long  
. . . . . . . . . . I'm all out of love, what am I without you?  
. . . . . . . . . . I can't be too late to say that I was so wrong  
__Resuming dictation. I'd like to report the following violation of Buy More policy, misappropriation of the home theater room, after hours consumption of alcohol, and lewd use of a musical montage._

Jeff's jaw dropped and Emmett gasped as he desperately tried to hit the fast forward button.

"Was that . . . _Air Supply_?" Lester turned to Jeff and questioned him with a half-cocked brow. Both of the balding men's remaining hairs seem to stand up on end, but for dramatically different reasons. Apparently, Jeff hadn't shared his precious musical montage with his bestie. While Emmett's precious blackmail montage hadn't been shared with anyone, until now.

"Not cool Emmett," Jeff said.

"Do you . . . _spy_ on everyone in the Buy More?" Morgan questioned.

"It's intelligence," he corrected.

"_Oh I see_." Morgan nodded his head in mock agreement and then he rolled his eyes.

"Well, it serves you two right for violating Buy More policy," Lester said with crossed arms.

"Oh, do we need to go into a certain someone's after hours use of Buy More's long distance coverage to call 1-900-BUY-LOVE?"

Suddenly, the Ass Man's veiled threat brought back into focus the reason that Lester was in such a bad mood – his cell phone bill. Lester had only went along with Big Mike's payback scheme because Lester had plans to 'acquire' the R7 gaming laptop that those Beverly Hills bozos had unlawfully procured. He had plans for that laptop. He needed that laptop. That laptop would get him out of this mess. But as usual, Emmett had to ruin everything.

"I…, I…, I . . . don't know . . . what you are talking about . . . Emmett," he stammered. It was bad enough that he was running out of time to pay his own cell phone bill courtesy of all those 1-900 calls to Bunny Love. Now this upper management low life was going to turn him in for unauthorized use of the company's phone service? Could this night get any worse?

"Oh really?" Emmett responded straightening his head while his piercing eyes stared at the little Indian. It was a bona fide BuyMoria stand-off, that was, until the dictaphone stopped fast forwarding. Suddenly a noise that did indeed sound like an injured sea mammal reverberated from the device in the taller man's hand.

Just then Big Mike plopped out of the van and hung up his phone. "Hey, Emmett, when'd ya go to Sea World?"

The four men shared a collective look of shock while Emmett hurriedly stopped the audio footage just in time.

"So boys, what'd I miss?" the big man asked as they made their way into Bennigans.

* * *

"I can't believe that we just missed him," Chuck lamented staring down at the computer sitting on his lap. It was the only connection that he had left with the elusive man he would never have the opportunity to meet. Chuck's head ached as he played back in his mind the picture of the helicopter bursting into flames when the Hellfire missile made contact with it. But the real pain came in knowing that without Orion, Chuck could very well be the Intersect forever.

Chuck let out a long sigh, turning to glance at Sarah beside him and then to Casey behind the wheel. Their silence was deafening. This was how they dealt with death, but it never seemed to work for him. He had to say something, he needed to say something. But what? What could make it better?

He turned to stare out the window as the Crown Victoria made its way back to the Castle. "I just wish I could've saved him," he muttered. His despair roused the one to his immediate left.

"I'm sorry Chuck, there was nothing you could do." Sarah reached over and put her hand on top of his. Her attempt to reassure him was not missed by either man flanking her on the front seat. For once Casey made no attempt to rib the nerd. It had been a rough day and they still had to give their report to the General – in person.

Chuck glanced down at her hand as it rested on top of his which in turn rested on the laptop. It was hard to miss the symbolism. He was stuck between the unfulfilled promise of a normal life with the girl he loved and the unfulfilled promise of deliverance from the martyred Orion.

"He was my last chance," Chuck said, deflated. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window.

"We'll find another way . . . " she stopped short. Instead, she turned back to blankly stare at the road, silently detaching her hand from his.

He opened his eyes at the loss of contact. He looked down at her hand which had replaced itself on her knee and then looked up at her face as she continued to stare straight ahead. He couldn't help but wonder what she had meant to say. We'll find another way to do what? To get the Intersect out of your head? To get Orion back? To get your old life back? He had no hope of those things now. The man was dead. And he took with him the knowledge of how to get his old life back. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes again.

But what really bothered him though was how she'd promised to explain things to the General and then she just backed down. Instead, she told the General that she understood Chuck could never meet Orion. And then he didn't meet him. Maybe Orion was right. Maybe he couldn't trust her. But, he _loved_ her. And God knows, he wanted to trust her. But could he?

Next to him Sarah stared and pondered over the last words that she spoke and the ones that went unspoken. 'We'll find another way . . .' _to have a real relationship_.

If only she could've told him.

* * *

"She could've just told me," Lester lamented to himself in the bathroom at Bennigan's. He opened his wallet and pulled out the now worn business card with her number—1-900-BUY-LOVE. "All those nights we talked on the phone. . . it was so real, Bunny."

Before he knew it he was sobbing, crying uncontrollably. He was so distraught that he didn't hear the bathroom door swing open or even the subsequent shuffling of sneakers toward the stall that he was occupying.

"Lester, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. Go away Morgan," he whimpered.

"Come on man," Morgan paused until he heard the sniffling from the inside of the stall, "Dude, are you crying?"

"No!" his voice squeaked.

"Lester, there's no crying in Buy More!"

"But . . . we're in Benny's." Lester said pathetically. He was always in a league of his own.

"Well, there's no crying in Bennigans." Morgan could hear the sound of tissue unrolling followed by Lester blowing his nose.

The little Indian man then opened the stall door and came out.

"Pull it together man," Morgan responded.

"I'm sorry, my eyes have just been killing me ever since Emmett sprayed us with mace."

"That was you? Why?"

"Morgan, I _needed_ that laptop. But," he sighed, "Those Beverly Hills braggarts took it before we could get to it and then I didn't know what to do."

"Why did you _need_ the laptop? Come on, talk to Dr. Morgan," he reached for his shirt collar where he usually kept his ballpoint pen, only he didn't have it on him. Then he remembered that he had just procured a pack of crayons from the restaurant table and so he rifled through his pockets and produced the colorful writing implements. Of course, he didn't have any paper either. While writing with crayons might be acceptable, Dr. Morgan would never sink so low as to write on toilet paper. So he slid the crayons back in his pocket and looked back at Lester.

"Okay, why don't you just tell me? Were you going to _bomb_ the Beverly Hills Buy More?"

"NO! That's infantile. Besides, we both know that the Roark 7 gaming laptop doesn't actually command a real Predator. If it did then I would just bomb _her_ into oblivion."

Morgan looked back at him with scrunched brows and narrowed eyes. Something wasn't adding up. Lester still hadn't said why he _needed_ the laptop. That was until he saw Bunny Love's business card in the desperate man's hand.

"Lester, this isn't about the laptop. This is about your phone bill and Bunny Love. You know . . . the scheming tart who would harvest your organs and sell them to the highest bidder?"

"That sounds vaguely familiar." Lester thought it sounded like something he would say.

"Morgan, I just haven't known what to do, between that monster phone bill, my computer getting murdered, and my Boobies DVD being kidnapped," he sighed, "It's just been one thing after another. . . Oh yeah, and Jesus has been talking to me. And then there's the beautiful blonde . . . " but just before Lester could tell him that Chuck's girlfriend had a thing for him, Morgan interrupted.

"The who?" Morgan turned his head to the side and cocked an eyebrow. But before he could ask the all important follow up question, the manager of all things Buy More rushed into the bathroom. Never one for formalities, Big Mike didn't let the call of nature stop him from joining the conversation, "What's got you in a tizzy Lester?"

"A woman, sir." Lester gulped, eyes forward and away from his boss.

The big man let out a sigh of relief as the sound of water hit the bowl. Apparently, in the executive washroom of BuyMoria, it wasn't a faux pas to carry on a conversation while doing your business. Unfortunately, the new found intimacy that their manager was extending to them was a little much for the two men who stood on the lowest rung of the Buy More corporate ladder. Morgan took it upon himself to turn on the faucet and Lester hit the hand dryer all the while ensuring that their eyes remained _forward_. At least they could no longer hear most of the sounds emanating from the other side of the room. They could, however, still hear the big man's voice.

"Women can be harsh. But they can also do things that make you shiver in your drawers. Just the other day, there was this thing that . . ."

"AHHHH. Right, so Morgan, I have this bill from Bunny . . ." Lester blurted out as much for Morgan's sake as well as his own. He still couldn't get the 'moaning sea lion' out of his head and the truth was even he wasn't enough of pervert to want to hear about the big man defiling Morgan's mother.

"Oh, you mean Bunny 'Buy More' Love – the phone sex girl?" the big man chuckled. "Yeah, I called her a few times when Gladys and I were on the outs . . . she wasn't much to look at, but when she told me that she lived for my smile. . ." He sighed.

Lester's eyes popped out of his head and Morgan's hairy jaw dropped to the floor but neither could think of anything to quiet the expose. Luckily, the manager had finished his business.

_SWOOSH!!!_ the flushing urinal sounded.

Big Mike walked over between the two nerds standing at the sinks. While washing his hands he looked into the mirror to Lester. "You just need to find you a woman who knows who yah are and that you don't have to pay to remember yah name."

"I understand, sir." Lester gulped.

The big man grabbed a couple paper towels, patted his hands dry, and tossed the remains into the trash. He didn't make it a habit to frolic with the help but tonight was an exception. Tonight they had shown exactly the stuff that they were made of when they had remained cool, calm, and collected. That's right, Burbank's finest had showed those Beverly Hills blue bloods the Buy More way.

"Come on boys, the next round's on me." He put an arm around each of the smaller guys and shooed them out of the men's room.

Buy More's version of the Village People was now reunited as the big man, the bearded one, and the Indian walked back out to the mostly empty restaurant and resumed their revelry with the drunk and the Ass Man. Perhaps more appropriately known as the Village Idiots, this merry band of misfits represented almost all demographics from the land of BuyMoria (only the Asian vixen and the lanky emissary with a computer for a brain were missing).

Morgan slid into the booth. This wasn't exactly his idea of fun, but his loyalty to BuyMoria necessitated that at least one cool head be present among his fired up compatriots while they had burned for revenge against their rival store. Morgan silently pulled the box of crayons out of his pocket and lined them up like dominoes with the others on the table. He gently tapped the closest box and watched them fall in succession, much like the racks of shelving earlier that evening. With one swing of Big Mike's fiddle, Emmett had single-handedly knocked out the entire DVD section of the Beverly Hills Buy More.

The destruction didn't trouble Morgan as much as the sniveling rat that had caused it. Emmett Milbarge was a disease – a plague that threatened to destroy the land he loved. Morgan looked over at his boss and noticed that he'd been watching his crayon box recreation of the evening's big event. "You know, Big Mike, that could've been some good blackmail."

The big man smiled unceremoniously. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about him son. It looks as though he will take care of that himself." They both focused on the rat man who was talking to a 'Billy Big Mouth Bass' on the wall opposite of them. The man with the two wine cooler tolerance had long exceeded his limit and was now conversing with a stuffed pseudo-fish in Bennigan's.

"You got 'yah phone Morgan? Opportunities like this don't happen every day."

Morgan curled his lip at the suggestion and quickly pulled out his phone. He snapped shot after glorious shot of the Ass Man singing 'Don't Worry Be Happy' in two-part harmony with the fake fish. The sight even brought a smile to the perplexed little Indian's face.

"Did'cha get it?"

"I got it." Morgan said.

"This is even better than when Emmett yelled at Big Mike's marlin." Lester grinned.

"What?" Big Mike asked.

"Oh nothing, sir." Lester shook his head.

Morgan leaned over to and Lester whispered, "I think you can rest assured that the Buy More phone bill won't be a problem now." Emmett then passed out as the precious singing fish finished the refrain alone.

_. . . . . . . . . . __Don't Worry Be Happy_  
_. . . . . . . . . . __Don't Worry Be Happy_

Feeling a bit better about their catch, Lester answered, "Now if _we_ could just figure out how to pay my phone bill. Since we're the brains of this operation Morgan, let's you and I come up with something. Why don't you start us off?"

"Right, well. . ."

But before Morgan could provide Lester with a much needed assist in the 'brains' department, they heard another voice.

"This song is about a girl who's given my friend Lester a real swift kick in the pants. If you put your hands together, we might get him up on stage." Jeff was at the karaoke machine oblivious to the fact that the restaurant was completely deserted, except for the four other Village Idiots that came in with him.

"Hold that thought Morgan. Jeffster calls." Lester scurried away.

Morgan looked over at Big Mike. They were the only ones in the 'audience' and so, it was up to them not to leave the nerd hanging. They shrugged their shoulders and provided a slow clap of support.

Lester jumped up to the mike and cleared his throat a couple times. He recognized the music right away and spoke, "This one's for you Bunny, you conniving little . . ."

_. . . . . . . . . . Sweet Emotion_  
_. . . . . . . . . . Sweet Emotion_

As Jeffster massacred Aerosmith's _Sweet Emotion_, back at the table Big Mike and Morgan considered the words of the song.

_. . . . . . . . . . You talk about things and nobody cares  
. . . . . . . . . . You're wearing out things that nobody wears  
. . . . . . . . . . You're callin' my name, but I gotta make clear  
. . . . . . . . . . I can't say baby where I'll be in a year.  
_

"You know Morgan, the scrawny kid's right. None of us can say where we'll be in a year," the big man said.

"Yeah, a year ago, Harry Tang was the Assistant Manager and now he's off living the good life in Hawaii," the smaller manboy responded, taking a swig from his beer.

"I never will forget the Lady Tang," the big man absent-mindedly fondled the long neck of his beer in remembrance of Pu Tang and all of her sweet generous gifts.

"But sir, you're dating my mother."

_. . . . . . . . . . Some sweat hog mama with a face like a gent  
. . . . . . . . . . Said my get up and go musta got up & went.  
. . . . . . . . . . Well I got good news, she's a real good liar  
. . . . . . . . . . Cause the backstage boogie set your pants on fire. _

"Yes," he paused, "She's the catch of a lifetime. Just last night, she did this sweet . . . "

"Yes, I heard." The son gulped down the rest of his beer.

_. . . . . . . . . . Sweeeeet Emoootion_  
_. . . . . . . . . . Sweeeeet Emoootion_

On stage, Lester did his best dramatic dance interpretation of the Roger Rabbit, followed by the Running Man, and then the Sprinkler. He even attempted what might be described in some circles as the Karate Kid Crane move before he grabbed hold of the mike stand straddling it ala Steven Tyler and riding it like a race horse.

"Whoa. Talk about all the wrong moves." The big man's jaw fell to the floor.

Morgan agreed. "Yeah, we better stop him now before he molests the mike stand and we get thrown out of here in the middle of the night."

* * *

Meanwhile in Echo Park – a place not familiar to one Bartowski, well, not yet

The man in black calmly stood under the cover of night on Franklin Street just to the northwest of the apartment complex he was watching. For years he had thought about knocking on their door one day and just showing up. So much of life was just about being there—just showing up. And yet, he had missed so many of those opportunities. He imagined what sitting down and catching up with them would be like. He really wanted to explain everything to them, but would it have made any difference? His life had never been normal and if there was anything worth fighting for, it was to give them that chance.

He reached down to push his coat back from his wrist slightly revealing the electronic device on his forearm. He typed a few strokes on the keypad, switching the screen to reveal a layout of the complex. He hit another button which launched a heat signature program. If there was anyone in the apartments that surrounded the courtyard the detector would register it right away. Other than his own signature, the coast was clear except for a faint blip that scurried quickly toward him. He swiftly pulled his sleeve down along with his fedora and ducked between a palm tree planter and the garbage can next to him. Whomever or whatever it was, was coming straight toward him.

"_REEEAAAOOOWWWW!!!" _

An orange-and-white tabby cat hissed ready to pounce. It charged toward him. He quickly grabbed the lid off the can in an attempt to ward off the feline's attack. Only, the hungry cat didn't jump at him. Instead, it leapt into the trash, finding the remains of a Subway six-inch tuna sub. The bony cat began to devour the delight. Steve looked down at the cat. "Guess I'm not the only one here who smells something fishy . . . _Orion,_" he chuckled after reading the name on the cat's collar.

Now that the coast was clear and his feline namesake was indisposed, Orion the man raised up his sleeve and tapped on his wrist computer again. With a few keystrokes, he accessed and took command of the surveillance footage of the courtyard and two apartments on the south end of the complex. He hit 'record', thereby documenting the absence of any activity at those locations.

He figured that Chuck and his handlers were still in a debriefing regarding the 'death' of Orion but he didn't know how long they'd be gone or even exactly where they were. But he needed to find out before he moved forward with his plan. He continued to stay just out of view of the cameras and then piggybacked onto the wireless system of the southeast corner apartment where all the high-grade surveillance equipment originated. After hacking the security firewall of the wireless network in a matter of seconds, Steve pulled up live footage of what appeared to be some compound. He could see his son sitting on a stool with the burly NSA agent and the female CIA agent (who looked strangely familiar to him) standing on each side of him. They were talking to a smaller woman. He quietly put on an earbud from his coat pocket and plugged it into his wrist computer. He heard the woman speak,

"_It's better that Orion didn't fall into Fulcrum's hands. He knew what they would do to him, he knew what they would gain."_

"_General you don't want the Intersect out of my head, do you?" _Chuck responded.

"_No, I don't."_

Steve had heard enough. He had known better than to trust the government. He had even told Chuck as much several times within the past week. But that was apparently one lesson his son was going to have to learn on his own. Steve put the earbud back in his pocket. It was almost time to move.

He saw that enough time had lapsed on the surveillance recording. With one stroke he looped the footage so that his next moves would go completely undetected by the cameras, by everyone – all except the one who was finishing its stolen seafood delight.

"Can you do me a favor my little cat burglar?" He asked his new partner in crime while it purred in the can. "Thanks. And I'm sorry for this," he muttered before gently placing the lid on the trash can. In no time he knew that the cat would start yowling loud enough that anyone walking by would have to let it out to get any peace.

Orion the cat would serve as his motion sensor. If it quit meowing, Steve would know that his time was up because someone would've returned to the courtyard and the 'cat would be out the can'.

He swiftly moved through the courtyard to the unlatched window of his son's room. As he climbed through the window his second foot clipped the sill, sending him tumbling forward to the bedroom floor. "Some cat burglar you are Orion," he said to himself, face buried in the rug below. He rolled over and muttered, "Good thing _that _won't make the NSA highlight reel."

He picked himself up next to the leather chair just in front of the window. Above the chair he noticed the same Dune poster that he saw in the web-cam footage from a few days earlier. He noticed the Les Paul guitar sitting in the chair, bongos above the headboard along with the turntable, stereo speakers, the mountains of albums and CDs on the other side of the room, and even a _pink_ iPod. "You always loved music . . . well . . . everything but the flute," he chuckled.

He moved over to the desk and noticed the two bulletin boards chock-full of nick-nacks. One thing in particular caught his eye, he saw an old envelope with a name, _his name –_Stephen J. Bartowski followed by an address: 13944 Sahara Avenue, Las Vegas, Nevada 89104. Had Chuck finally put all the clues together that he had left him so long ago_ – _the pears, the Mission Impossible reference, the bracelet, the fortune cookie saying, and . . . the address? No. If he had, Chuck would've found him long ago.

It must have been related to something else. He continued to scan the bulletin board until his eyes focused on an invitation. It was a wedding invitation for . . . Eleanor. "Ellie's getting married?" he asked himself. He felt a little faint and so he sat down as the news set in. After taking a few deliberate breaths he repeated with a gleam in his eye, "Ellie's getting married!"

And then he knew. Chuck wasn't just looking for Orion, Chuck was also looking for his dad. Steve smiled. His son still cared about him even after he had abandoned them more than a dozen years earlier. When Steve left his kids, he knew that they needed him to leave for their safety. Now it was apparent that they needed him back in their lives for that same reason.

Steve looked around the room as he tried to reconnect in some small way with his son. He was glad to see that Chuck still had his Tron poster. Steve stood up and considered it for a moment. There was something odd about how it hung off-center and slightly lop-sided. Could that be the source of Chuck's secret chart that he saw through the webcam? He pulled it down and flipped it over. Yes. There it was. Hidden, yet in plain view.

"He was always a genius." Steve smiled through a wide grin.

It was obvious that Chuck had been at it for some time. Steve focused on the center of the chart and the hand-drawn Intersect room. "I wish I could've kept you from all of this. He sighed as he considered how he would plead with respect to his son's questions on the chart. _Developer?_ "Guilty." _Architect? _"Guilty." _Designer?_ "Guilty."

There was another question stood out – _Who's got the tech? _"Good question Charles – always follow the technology and it'll lead you where you need to go." It reminded him of the reason that he was there, he had something to help Chuck on his quest.

"I wish I could answer all of your questions," he lamented, realizing the impossibility of that prospect right now. If he did, Chuck wouldn't believe him. Still, he hated the deception. He longed for a day that he could tell both of them the truth. To tell Chuck about the mysterious _ORION_. To tell Ellie that he didn't want to leave her. But now was not that time. Their future was still uncertain and it was very much in his hands.

He sighed and turned away from the chart for a moment. Why did his past always seem to jeopardize their future? No matter what he did, it was as if his creations and his past _associations_ haunted them. It was all his fault, the government, Fulcrum, Roark…

Before he finished his thought, he noticed a blue-and-white postcard for NextExpo '09 on a stack of unopened mail. "Speaking of Roark," he huffed. But then his ire gave way to wicked cackle as he noticed the obvious typo for the company's web-address: www . roarkinst . **con** / techexpo. "Ted, I always knew that you were a dot con!"

"Too bad you no longer have these," he said with a mischievous grin while pulling out a clear folder from his coat pocket that contained Intersect schematics.

"Chuck won't need you for awhile, you rat bastard," Steve said with contempt, sliding the postcard in his pocket. "But don't you worry, we'll be coming for you when the time is right."

Steve looked back at the chart. He couldn't help but focus on the source of his son's current predicament – Bryce Larkin. Years ago, Steve had thought it could be a good thing to have Chuck's college roommate, a new CIA agent at the time, look out for his son. "Boy was I wrong about him," Steve muttered as he read through the laundry list of offenses that Chuck had written: Larkin had gotten his son kicked out of school, slept with a girl who broke Chuck's heart, stolen government secrets and then sent the Intersect to him.

Steve couldn't help but be taken by the two words in blue marker next to Larkin's picture – '_Why me?_' He paused and then spoke as if to answer his son's question, "It wasn't your fault Charles. It wasn't you, it was me. I tried, god knows I tried to protect you from this. . . I just wanted you to have a chance at a normal life."

He focused next on the badge directly above Larkin. He had seen Chuck looking at this photograph when he had hacked his webcam a few days earlier. It was an identification of CIA Agent . . . Sarah Walker. It was impossible to miss his son's interest in the person he labeled as 'My Handler'. There was more written around her picture than any other: _Who is she? What are her true feelings? Do we have a chance?_

_Who is she?_ It had been bugging him for days. There was something about that face, those eyes . . . something so familiar. He looked back at Larkin's picture and then he remembered. Sarah Walker was one of the recruits for Project Omaha just before the operation was shut down. Steve doubted that she would remember him since they had never met during the project and he spent almost all of his time holed up in his lab.

_What are her true feelings? _"Oh Charles, she's a CIA operative. You'll never know that . . ." his voice trailed off and he stopped himself. He thought back to another government operative in their past, one that he'd once wondered the same thing. God he missed her.

_Do we have a chance?_ "I don't know Charles. And . . . I don't know if we can trust her. I do know one thing though, she's going to help us find one another. That is a promise. And if she does, then maybe you can ask her that question yourself."

Suddenly everything was quiet. That ornery cat wasn't howling anymore. Then he heard the clink of the lid on the trash can. His time was up; the cat was literally out of the can.

He reached over to the desk and grabbed what he had come to deliver. It was just a few answers to the questions his son had posed. Hopefully, they would put him on the right path. And in time, maybe Steve would be able to join him on the journey.

He slid the folder just under the pillow on the bed and then moved stealthfully over to the window. He waited there silently. There were two voices in the courtyard.

"How'd Orion end up in the trash?" The woman's voice sounded so familiar. Could it be? It was. _Eleanor_. Steve smiled as he listened to the couple's conversation.

"I don't know babe, but you know how that cat likes to run off."

The guy had a point. Steve wished that he could also quit running from his kids and stay put, but now was not the time. Soon though. He waited until they closed the front door of the apartment and he slid out of the window. He jetted through the courtyard. Outside the complex, he noticed his partner in crime gave him a narrowed look. He stopped briefly and petted the feline. "Thanks Orion, you really saved me. Next time, I'll bring you a fresh foot long, I promise." The cat purred and all was forgiven.

It was time to leave. But soon he'd be coming back, hopefully for good. He'd been lost for so long it felt good knowing that pretty soon he would be found. No more hiding. No more running. And maybe for once, he could get a good night's sleep.

* * *

It had been a long sleepless night. Most of it was spent at the Castle in a debriefing. In general, debriefings sucked. But that one had to be the worst one of all. No Orion. No chance at a normal life. No chance at a real relationship.

He still couldn't believe that the General had admitted it – she didn't want the Intersect out of his head. He was going to be the Intersect forever. As depressing as that thought was, he too tired to sulk, to frown, to show any outward signs of how distressing it all was. Chuck was beat.

Without taking his shoes off, he crashed on his bed. Then he heard a strange crunch as is head hit the pillow. Scrunching his tired brows, he reached under his pillow and retrieved a clear folder which had several index cards and a CD in it. He looked around almost to ensure that the 'coast was clear' and then walked over to his desk. After dumping the folder's contents out, he set aside the cards and loaded the CD in his computer.

_. . . . . . . . . . If you are watching this Chuck it means something happened to me, probably something not so nice._

Chuck watched the screen with a blank expression. He couldn't help but think about the sacrifice Orion had made. But still on some level, Chuck selfishly wished that Orion hadn't done it. He had too many questions that would never have an answer.

_. . . . . . . . . . While I'd hoped we were able to meet . . . that I was able to tell you my real name . . ._

Chuck pressed his lips together. He too wished that he knew more about Orion – the only man who could've gotten him out of his predicament. There were too many problems now that had no solution.

_. . . . . . . . . . The cards you are looking at are the schematics for the new Intersect. I stole them from Fulcrum. _

Chuck looked down at the index cards as the recording continued. Wait a second…

_. . . . . . . . . . Show them to no one,_

He glanced up wide-eyed. He understood Orion's instructions all too well. He couldn't trust the General – she had lied to him. He couldn't trust Casey – he was a soldier, General Beckman's soldier. He couldn't trust Sarah – she promised that she would explain things to the General and then she backed down. Chuck knew that with this mission, he was on his own.

_. . . . . . . . . . but study them. You will need to understand their computer if you want to get the Intersect out of your head. __And Yes, it's possible. _

Chuck half-smiled at the screen. With this news something had quickly returned that he had thought was gone forever – hope.

_. . . . . . . . . . If you find Fulcrum's intersect, if you can get inside, You could get your old life back._

Chuck sat at his computer silently collecting his thoughts. He could get his old life back. His life could be normal. Suddenly, he was captivated by these possibilities, even if he'd have to accomplish them on his own.

_. . . . . . . . . . Goodbye Chuck. This disk will self-destruct in five seconds. I always wanted to say that_

Orion's famous last words – a Mission Impossible reference. There was something strangely familiar about it. Before he could deliberate on it further, smoke rose up from the CD drive. Chuck reached down and fanned it away.

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

There was a knock at his window. He spun quickly around.

"Hi," Sarah whispered, barely audible and with a big smile as she stepped through his bedroom window.

Chuck only offered a solemn half-smile through pursed lips in return. It wasn't missed by either the Agent or the girl that he made no effort to meet her halfway. "She was wrong you know, I'm not a spy."

Sarah walked over to him in an attempt to close the distance. She knew how much he didn't want a spy's life. Still, he was proving his heroism more and more each day.

"Look Beckman is a soldier and she sees things in black and white," she paused, looking off into the distance. Then she returned her eyes to him and continued with all seriousness, "But she's right about one thing, we're in the middle a fight with Fulcrum." Sarah looked into his eyes pleading for him to understand the gravity of the situation and all that they were up against. She stood there in silence for what seemed to be an eternity that in reality, lasted mere moments. She sat down on his bed.

"Yeah, uh, I get that, I do, but this is not my future." He didn't move.

She looked up at him and swallowed hard. It was impossible for her to miss that they were not on the same level, not even on the same page, and she didn't know if they would ever get there. The future that she had only just begun to hope for with him was as distant as his words, as his body language, as he was, at that moment.

"This is what I'm doing right now," Chuck said.

She couldn't help but think about the true implications of his statement. It was all temporary for him. One day he'd get back to his old life, his life without her in it.

"But I _will_ get my life back," Chuck responded, firmly.

"Yeah, of course you will Chuck," she said through a closed teeth. She wanted to offer him hope but there was no inflection in her voice. She knew how hollow her words sounded.

He swallowed, not saying anything in response. Chuck was never one not to speak, but this time he did nothing to fill the silent void. In that instant, Sarah knew that something had changed between them. Just when she thought they had gotten past this and his secret search for Orion, it seemed as though they were back here again. There was definitely something that he was not telling her. And since he wasn't telling her about it, that meant he didn't trust her. She couldn't take it, she had to ask him.

"We're still a good team right? You still . . . trust us?" Sarah smiled as her voice trailed off and her question lingered. While she may have said 'us', her eyes communicated 'me'. She needed validation. She needed to know that he still trusted her.

"I trust you. . . Of course I do," he answered all too quickly. She could see from his distant eyes and furrowed brow that he didn't really mean what he was saying.

Sarah turned her head to the side and smiled. She tried to reassure him, "I'm on your side, Chuck."

"I know." Chuck answered without any emotion.

She pressed her lips together and looked down as she considered what to say. She wanted to tell him everything but she couldn't. There was nothing more that she could say in that room. Without a purpose to be there, she knew that she shouldn't linger.

"Well I better go." Sarah stood up to leave.

"Yeah . . . yeah, I'm uh . . . a little beat," Chuck muttered looking off.

"Okay." She turned and retreated out the same way from which she came. It was as if they had completely changed roles. She came to talk, he remained closed off. She moved forward while he kept his distance.

Sarah knew that he was definitely holding something back. Whatever it was, she couldn't say. She could've pressed him for an answer, but for some reason this time she didn't have a high degree of confidence that he would respond honestly. The prospect of Chuck lying to her was even more disheartening.

As much as she wanted his complete trust, she knew that she would get nowhere by demanding it. Instead, she would have to earn his trust and hope that he would give it to her in time.

* * *

That Afternoon in the Land of BuyMoria, the Native Indian Finally Came Up With A Not-So-Brilliant Plan

Lester was running out of time. In just a few days his $3700 cell phone bill would be due. Although he appeared to have it together on the outside, the rate at which he picked his teeth with his Buy More credit card was a dead give-away. This little Indian was anything but cool, calm, and collected as he sat at the Nerd Herd Technical Support Desk.

He looked down disgusted at his chewed up card. And then, Lester remembered a lesson from Emmett's Employee of the Month debacle – customers went crazy over discounts. He finally had an idea!

He could offer any customer a discretionary sales discount of 10% off the regular price no questions asked. If he offered to purchase the item himself and they gave him cash in exchange for the reduced price, he could ring up the sale on his Buy More credit card and take off another 20% through his employee discount card. That way he'd make $20 on every $100 he rung up. If he stood at registers, he wouldn't even have to work for it.

He'd then use the cash to pay off his phone bill and maybe even get a new computer, or even that new karaoke machine he got to play with at Benny's. Anything he'd have left he'd just put on his credit card. But there was no need to rush on that because all he had to do was make the minimum payment each month. Finally, that upper level business math course at El Segundo State was going to pay off!

It was a brilliant idea, or so he thought. As he set off toward the registers to put his plan into action, he never thought about the fine print. If he had, he would've noticed that card he was using charged at a rate of 29.5% per annum. Poor Lester never did understand math.

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**[Stay Tuned as Team Bartowski heads to The National Scrabble Tournament in the next series of installments of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man!**_**]**

**[For this chapter's prize, we have a math problem: Assume Lester makes the minimum 2% payment. Rounded to the nearest year, how long will it take this little Indian to pay off his credit card if he only put the $3700 on it? And don't forget that a credit card's best friend is compound interest!]**


	19. Burning Up The Pavement

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks Aardvark7734 – you're the best beta ever!**

**Congratulations Utuu for winning Ch.18's prize (with honorable mention to Notorious JMG)--both men correctly answered that Lester will NEVER pay off his Buy More credit card if he makes the minimum 2% payment! In the immortal words of **_**The Waterboy's **_**Mama Boucher…credit cards are 'da devil!**

**[The events in chapters 19-25 take place between **_**Chuck v. The Predator**_** and **_**Chuck v. The Broken Heart**_**]**

**Previously on _Chuck v. The Burning Man_…**Chuck's dad left him the clues necessary to find him, Maury Cheeks gave dad a broken satellite phone while at The Burning Man Festival, Orion sent Chuck Fulcrum's Intersect schematics and told him not to share them with his handlers, and Sarah realized that Chuck was hiding something but she just didn't know what.

**Now that you're caught up to speed on our journey, let's join the action already in progress…**

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**Chapter 19— Burning Up The Pavement**

Somewhere just east of Emigrant Gap, CA, six hours into their seven hour drive…

The white dashed lines on the black asphalt had long since bled together forming undivertable barriers in Agent Walker's mind as she stayed the course toward their destination. She welcomed the mind-numbing monotonity of steering the all-too-small Ford Focus east along I-80. If nothing else, it kept her from focusing on the spy world's bickering Odd Couple who sat to her right and behind. The two men had quibbled most of the journey and so Sarah had gladly tuned them out. Instead, she devoted her attention to the road ahead, that was until they directly provoked her.

"Walker, it's a government car. You don't have to drive it like you stole it," Casey snarled from the back seat.

"Yeah, where's the fire?" Chuck muttered off-hand as he fiddled with the radio, not finding anything to his liking.

She unwillingly snapped out of her cool, internal oasis of thought and back to the two prevaricates who had finally pointed their heated barbs toward her.

Sarah glanced down at the speedometer. She was pushing all 140 tired horses under them as fast as they would go. "I'm only going 65. Besides, we've got to get to Reno before the tournament begins."

"Well, it feels like the wheels are gonna fall off any minute," Casey growled, his 6'4" frame taking up the entire back seat.

"It's not her fault that you couldn't fit in the driver's seat, Lurch," Chuck snapped.

"Oh you rang?" The Major lurched toward the nerd, causing his seat to lunge forward, making Chuck hit the wind shield.

"Owww! Casey!" Chuck yowled just after his head made contact with the glass, rubbing his noggin more for show and sympathy than anything else. Having gotten none, Chuck turned back with a sneer, "If you don't quit kneeing me, you're going to damage the Intersect!"

"Look, this drive isn't any fun for any of us. So you two need to… _Cool it_." Sarah didn't need to raise her voice; her curt response and steely sideways glance into the rearview chilled both of them. The male members of Team Bartowski knew all too well the damage that Agent Walker was capable of within the interior of a sedan. Neither of them wanted to find out what she could do inside a compact.

Having finally achieved a few minutes of peace, Sarah found her thoughts centering on the nerd that sat next to her. Instead of focusing on those things she could verbalize (his protection detail), or even on those she could not (her feelings toward him), her mind was held captive by a more recent phenomena – a growing distance between them.

He'd withdrawn into himself ever since Orion had come along. When she went to his apartment to console him a few days ago, Sarah had expected to find a troubled Chuck; a man unable to sleep after the death of the one person who could end his nightmare. Or even a resentful Chuck, a man infuriated by a General who never wanted to release him from that same nightmare. Instead, she found something much different. He bore a distant determination that did not reveal its source. A stubborn new gap that even her searching questions could not close. She suspected either Orion or the General was somehow responsible, but she couldn't stave off the fear that she was also partly to blame. All she knew was that he was definitely holding something back from her, but what it was, she couldn't say.

She let out a long breath as she silently eyed at the road ahead. The journey before them was uncertain. There were no guarantees that their final destination was where they both wanted to go – a real relationship. It was something that a spy could never have, and yet, it was something that she wanted with him. Even if she could never tell him, it didn't change how she felt.

Maybe that was it, she thought. It was her fault. She had held back from him for so long that her inability to communicate how she felt had finally taken its toll. Had he decided to back away? To give up? Her chest began to tighten as she feared the answers to those questions. But luckily, the Agent in her mind swiftly quelled the insecurities of Sarah's heart. _No, that couldn't be it_. He was more resolved than ever to get the Intersect out of his head and she knew why – to have a chance at a real relationship _with her_.

She just wished he hadn't shut her out. Chuck had been such an open book before Orion came along, sharing things with her regardless of whether he should've or not. It was one of the things that she had learned to expect from him. Exhausting as it was that he pushed for the same from her, she now realized how preferable that was to the possibility of no longer having his trust at all.

He'd been so closed off from her the last couple days with his nose firmly planted in that comic book of his. She'd never known him to be that interested in comics, especially when she was in close proximity. She smirked at the thought. Oh well, it was probably just an escape for him. God knows he deserved a way out. _Maybe I should give 'Ex Machina' a read myself_. _Then I might figure out what I'm missing._

* * *

Chuck knew exactly what he was missing. He could practically touch 'what he was missing' without even moving in the cramped seating of the compact car. He missed _her_, but not just being with her. He missed _confiding_ in her. It was the one thing she'd consistently asked him to do – to trust her. Now that he was withholding his trust, the distance had grown between them.

She was the only person he could truly confide in this world of looming shadows. Orion told him to trust no one. He sighed. If he couldn't trust her, the question was how could he truly love her? How could he expect her to feel the same way? These questions just wouldn't leave him be as they continued on their journey together. Chuck needed something, anything to get his mind off of these things.

He glanced over at Sarah making brief eye contact before he dared to move his hand toward the radio. They hadn't settled on a radio station since they'd left Sacramento. She didn't protest and so he resumed his scan of the sparse offerings available over the static-filled airwaves.

"Bartowski, if you don't quit fiddling with the radio, I'm going to shoot it or tranq you." With one move, Chuck had roused the hibernating grizzly in the back.

"Fine. Here. Happy now?" Chuck stopped his scan on the next station he found. As his curly head hit the head rest, a familiar song came on the radio – _Adele's Chasing Pavements_. He could hear the groan from the back seat as the perfect song for the front seat resonated from the speakers.

. . . . . . . . . . _If__ I tell the world,  
_. . . . . . . . . . _I'll never say enough,  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Cause it was not said to you,  
_. . . . . . . . . . _And that's exactly what I need to do,  
_. . . . . . . . . . _If I'm in love with you,_

. . . . . . . . . . _Should I give up,  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Or should I just keep chasing pavements?  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Even if it leads nowhere,  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Or would it be a waste?  
_. . . . . . . . . . _Even if I knew my place should I leave it there?  
_

The words of the song wrapped up the real question that was on his mind. _Should I give up?_ He caught her glance and she gave a slight smile in return just as he released her gaze. Suddenly, the distance between them didn't seem so great. Their stolen looks at one another delivered the unspoken conversation that they both needed to have. He could see that there was something just under the surface, what it was he couldn't be sure, but it was something.

All of the other things that fought to separate them recently, he believed, would work themselves out in time. As they burned up the pavement, the couple within chased each other's thoughts. There was so much to be said, to be acted on, . . . but not while Major Killjoy was kneeing both of them from behind.

"You sure can pick 'em moron," Casey groaned. "It's bad enough that I have to listen to that song when you're alone playing all by yourself with those sappy songs on that pink iPod."

"What??? NO! . . . I don't do . . . Sarah, I . . . um . . ." Chuck was completely flustered but he wasn't going to go down that easily. Instead, he went on the offensive, "And what are you doing Casey when 'Don't Fear the Reaper' starts blasting from your apartment at 2 a.m.? Playing your cow bell?"

"I'm servicing my Glock."

"But you don't have a . . . " Sarah started.

"Exactly." Chuck interjected before Sarah could finish.

The wisp of a whimper escaped from somewhere behind them and neither Chuck nor Sarah could contain themselves. Their laughter was contagious, causing the growling grizzly in the back to turn into the Sugar Bear that was rarely, if ever, seen. As it turned out, the awkward 'self-serving' innuendo, was just the release that they all needed.

After catching his breath, Chuck looked back at Casey. "You know, I can't believe I'm going to say this but I miss the roominess of the Vic."

"Well, if you two hadn't polluted the back seat with all that plumbing excrement from Lester's house, I wouldn't have had to send it off to get the prisoner containment area reupholstered," Casey responded.

"Well, we could've taken the Herder. It would've been better than this," Chuck offered.

"No, we couldn't risk you being compromised. We still don't know who Maury Cheeks is communicating with so until then, you're Charles Carmichael," the Major explained.

"Okay, if that's the case, then why couldn't we have just taken your Porsche, Sarah? After all, Charles Carmichael has a rep to protect." Chuck grinned.

Casey's grunt turned into a cackle.

Sarah smirked, "Really Chuck? A luxury two-seater at a Scrabble Tournament?"

"Yeah, _that_ wouldn't stand out." Casey snickered as they pulled into the hotel parking lot where the tournament was taking place.

"Besides, this car is perfect for a semi-professional Scrabble player's cover," Sarah smirked and she parked the car. As they piled out of the compact, Casey announced their arrival.

"Reno meet Charles Carmichael, International Man of Scrabble Misery."

* * *

The International Man of Intersect Mystery traded his trenchcoat and Fedora for a pair of comfortable jeans, and a flannel shirt. Today was moving day. Steve said his final goodbyes to the ghost town of Parran, Nevada, and started south on state highway 95.

Just as Team Bartowski reached the end of their seven hour trek north to Reno, the elder Bartowski steered his '91 Jeep Grand Wagoneer with the Airstream Overlander in tow past Amargosa Valley onto NV-373. During his journey south, Steve reflected back on how isolated he'd become through his years in the wilderness. He'd remained hidden in the high Nevada desert for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to have an open, real conversation with anyone other than the coyotes that howled outside his trailer at night. Sure his jet-setting alter ego had engaged in infrequent small talk with flight attendants, cabbies, and even . . . the occasional cat. But when he stopped and thought about it, the last real conversation Steve had with someone had been months ago at The Burning Man Festival in Black Rock City. Whatever happened to that naked guy and his feathered rooster bike? "Sweet Cheeks." Steve chuckled, "I wonder where that guy is now."

**

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**[STAY TUNED LATER THIS WEEK for the next installment of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man **_**when a charm bracelet, the fortune cookie saying, and pears offer Sarah clues as to where to find a long lost Bartowski.]**

**[For this chapter's bit of interactive fun…the first person to correctly name the prop and Chuck episode which inspired the 'Cowbell' reference will win this chapter's prize! Happy Hunting!]**

**[A/N: If you post a review, you'll get a scoop within a day as I work on the next chapter!]**


	20. The Warm Up Before The Competition

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks Aardvark7734 – you're the best beta ever!**

**Congratulations wepdiggy! He was the first to correctly identify that the cowbell reference was from Chuck's 'Cowbell Hero' t-shirt as featured in **_**Chuck v. The Suburbs.**_** For winning Ch.19's prize, wep gets to include a song on Chuck's pink iPod which will be featured in an upcoming chapter! **

**Stay tuned for future contests! Oh, and a word to the wise, it helps to add this story to your alerts so that you can get a jump on your competition just like wepdiggy did!**

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**Chapter 20 – The Warm Up Before for the Competition**

"All this effort to find a guy who doesn't want to be found," Chuck muttered under his breath as he silently unpacked his bag. _Bet the government wouldn't do all of this to help me find my dad, _he sighed. Well, the least Beckman could've done was to spring for a flight, _but no_, they had to 'protect his cover'. Chuck didn't know what frustrated him more – the Intersect that kept him from having a real life or the dead-end cover that kept the one thing he wanted most so close but so far out of reach.

She'd been so close to him during the car ride to Reno – the cramped seating had kept the object of his desire as close as humanly possible. Yet for most of the journey, he'd never felt further away from her. He knew that he was responsible for the new distance between them but he just didn't know what to do about it. At least, he finally had some space to stretch out and time alone to think. _Thank God we're in separate rooms, _he thought_._

His thoughts shifted ever so slightly to a question she'd asked him just a few days earlier – _did he trust her_? Rather than answering the question, he focused more on why she'd asked him that in the first place. He sighed. Sarah had to sense something was up. She hadn't asked him that in months. Besides, it had been a given – that was until Sarah told him to leave the search for Orion alone and he just couldn't do it.

Then, when she found out about his search, her disappointment cut to his core. He still felt guilty about it. The look on her face that morning in the Buy More hadn't been one of an irate handler, it was of a hurt girlfriend. Then in his apartment again, she was almost pleading with him to tell her what he was keeping from her.

He wanted to trust her, even if Orion said he couldn't. _Geez, why do I keep giving credence to a dead Mr. Matrix face guy over someone I've known, I've cared about, heck, I've loved for almost 2 years now?_ _Am I that desperate to get this thing out of my head? _"Yes." As soon as he answered himself, he heard a familiar knock on the adjoining door.

_

* * *

_

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Hey Chuck." Sarah peeked her head in the door. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard you say something." Sarah gave a quick half-smile and walked on in his hotel room. As she neared him she noticed the pink iPod – the one with the songs about her – sitting on the bed next to his black union jack t-shirt.

"Oh…Yeah?" Chuck looked back at her with scrunched brows, "Umm…look, can we talk about how this is all supposed to go down? . . . I want to make sure that I've got everything straight before the 'Scrabble Misery' starts." Without waiting for her response, Chuck began to ramble on about the tournament details.

As attentive as the agent usually was, Sarah didn't hear anything except Chuck's voice continue on as if he was far off in the distance. Instead, she was focused on the black t-shirt on the bed. It was the t-shirt he wore under that white dinner jacket the night he knocked on the door to her apartment. She knew the 'Montgomery' move well. Still, Sarah Walker didn't have to be a trained CIA operative to know what 'operation' Chuck had hoped for that night. Then when he failed in his objective, his dejected look was one thing that she couldn't erase from her mind. It still pained her. Damn Bryce for showing up.

The next time she saw that t-shirt he wasn't wearing it at all – thanks to the shenanigans of the other member of their team. If she hadn't cared for Chuck so much, she would still see the naked humor in his streak or as Casey called it – the 'Bartowski Flash'. Damn Casey for showing out.

Then during their round-the-clock protection detail, Chuck had given her that same t-shirt to sleep in. She'd remembered her Orange Orange uniform, her toothbrush, even her Smith & Wesson 5906. (Of course, she never forgot her gun.) As an agent trained to pay attention to all mission details, she still couldn't believe that she had simply forgotten to bring something to sleep in. Damn…_me_ for showing…_that I just can't think straight around him._

All she could do was think about him that night. She didn't sleep a wink. In her mind she'd replayed their night in the 'burbs over and over – when she'd watched him sleep so peacefully. In his room though, Sarah had to turn away, it was just too hard. That whole night, she never sensed him relax either. She never heard his breathing reach the rhythmic calm cadence of sleep. After the alarm went off, she found him in the same position, blankets to his chin, just as he had laid down hours before. And what was all that nervous rambling she did about _separate rooms_?

". . . at least we have separate rooms," Chuck finished and with that reminder Sarah snapped back to the present all the while still staring at his t-shirt on the bed.

"Oh hey, you like my Triumph shirt? It's not been too lucky lately. . ." Chuck sighed. She had to agree. That t-shirt had come to symbolize everything unattainable about their relationship...all the barriers – Bryce, Casey, and even her.

". . . but I figured maybe I'd wear it to the tournament so we could _triumph over adversity_. . . Okay, now that I say it, that sounds pretty lame," Chuck chuckled nervously. Sarah couldn't help but grin in return.

"Sorry, it must be all the . . . _stuff _I've been seeing inside that comic I've been reading lately." Chuck picked up the shirt and tossed it back in his bag.

Sarah's grin gave way to a widening smile. _There's my optimistic nerd._ No matter the circumstances, he never gave up hope. That was something that she loved . . . she paused at that thought and then confirmed it in her mind. Yes, she _loved_ that about him. It was a small step in Sarah's mind but still, it was quite the giant leap for the CIA agent.

"No, you should wear it. Someday it's bound to be lucky; it might as well be today." Sarah reached in his bag and brought the t-shirt back out. Along with the t-shirt another item fell out – an envelope. Sarah picked up the envelope and read the name and address on the label.

_. . . . . . . . . .Stephen J. Bartowski. . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . .13944 Sahara Avenue. . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . .Las Vegas, Nevada 89104. . . . . . . . . ._

She looked up at him. "Vegas huh?"

"Yeah, I thought . . . I dunno . . . it was just the last address I had for him. I was going to mail the invitation this morning but I just didn't have the time." Chuck muttered, looking down at the envelope in her hands.

Sarah sensed an opening, a chance to close the distance between them. She wanted to be there for him and this was her opportunity. "All these secrets in your head, and I don't mean the Intersect . . . talk to me Chuck," she pleaded. "What was Ellie talking about the last time I stayed over? About you finding your dad?"

She could sense him considering her questions as he pursed his lips together and squinted a bit. She knew that it would help him to talk about it. She'd shared that part of her past with him, he'd even met her dad. Maybe this time he'd tell her a little about his father. He let out a deep breath and began, "You know my dad took off 12 years ago, right?"

Sarah nodded. "Uh huh."

"Well, dad left on his anniversary. Then, a few months later, I got a birthday card with this address on it. We haven't seen or heard from him since."

"What did he say when you last saw him?"

"He said he was going to get pancakes. But, that was just his code . . . for uh . . . going to this Bed & Breakfast that he used to spend anniversaries and special days with mom." Chuck sighed.

Sarah pressed her lips together and looked at him earnestly.

"See, he kept going there for years, we think to remember her. He'd always order Peking duck and noodles . . ."

"Chinese?" Sarah curled one side of her lips. _Like father like son_.

"Yeah." Chuck glanced off for a moment and then continued, "Well, so when he didn't come home . . . I went to the B&B to see if I could find him…"

"Yeah?" Sarah nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"But when I got there, all I could tell was that he had watched a pay-per-view movie – _Mission Impossible,_ you know, the one with Tom Cruise and the whole Job 315 bit?" Chuck paused, turning his head to the side and thinking for a moment, "Say . . . spies don't really use bible verses to communicate code, do they?"

"Uh, well . . ." Sarah hadn't really expected that tangent, but before she could answer him, Chuck continued.

"That's strange now that I mention it because . . ." Chuck reached from his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He ripped open the Velcro and pulled out a worn fortune cookie saying. "Dad left this on top of a bible on the nightstand."

Chuck handed Sarah the slip of paper and she read it silently:

_. . . . . . . . . . Right now there's an energy pushing you in a new direction. . . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . . Lucky Numbers: 10 – 31 – 14 – 7 – 12 – 16. . . . . . . . . ._

She looked up after she had memorized it and then gave it back to him.

"Well, it's probably nothing but for the longest time I thought he was trying to tell us something with the few things he left behind. See, my dad was always into puzzles, riddles, symbols . . .kind of like – Guy LeFleur, minus the really bad Vogon poetry of course," Chuck kidded.

Sarah chuckled even if she _still_ didn't get the last reference. Knowing him, it was probably something related to Star Trek, Star Wars, or _some other 'galaxy' far, far away._

"I dunno . . . after a while, I just sort of put it all aside, listened to that therapist I told you about and then just moved on," he explained.

"Well these things always have a meaning . . ." she began.

"Yeah, if you add 'in bed' to them," he snickered with a nod to the bed beside them.

Sarah rolled her eyes and groaned with a smile. "What I _meant _was . . . if your dad was into puzzles and symbolism, this might be a clue as to what happened to him."

"If you say so," Chuck said almost dismissively as he put the fortune back in his wallet and returned it to his back pocket.

"Was there anything else?" she asked as he was still looking down, this time focused on her hands.

"Yeah, he left this too," Chuck said, taking hold of her wrist with the charm bracelet on it.

"Oh . . . thanks for reminding me." Sarah silently chastised herself while she turned her wrist over and unfastened the clasp.

He looked back at her questioningly until he realized, "Can't have something _real_ on a mission. Right?"

Sarah gave a deliberate head nod as she placed the heirloom in her jeans pocket.

He stared uncomfortably at her bare wrist. Based on his last comment, the last thing Sarah could trust herself to do was to face him and hold his gaze.

"So do you think he's still out there somewhere?" she asked, still looking down without meeting his eyes.

"Well . . . he left _your _bracelet – the one thing that reminded him of our mom – next to an empty bowl which had contained pears," Chuck answered.

Sarah didn't miss the emphasis that he placed on who these charms belonged to now. Without realizing it, she hooked her thumb in her jeans pocket just within reach of the now hidden heirloom. Still in contact with the bracelet, she finally looked back up at him and responded, "Right. Pears symbolize 'separation.'"

Chuck's eyes widened slightly. Did she just surprise him by knowing this? Surely, he knew that she knew these kinds of things. After all, he'd discovered the real meaning behind her 'favorite' flower months ago.

"So, do you think he was telling you he was alright? . . . That you just had to be separated for a while?" Sarah asked, expectantly.

"Huh? Oh, yes." Chuck nodded as if he were clearing his head. Sarah could sense that her 'secret love' had finally snapped back to reality thanks to her questions on 'separation'. "I never understood why, but at some point we just moved on."

"So you said something a while back about your dad having worked for Roark Instruments?" she asked.

"Yeah, you know dad was an engineer, right? I don't really know what he did. It was all top secret. . . It was strange though, after he left, because Ted Roark called a bunch of times looking for him," Chuck said with his voice trailing off.

"You mean, Ted Roark as in the founder and CEO?"

"Yep . . ." Chuck nodded but before he could continue, they were interrupted with the third wheel of Team Bartowski.

Casey stuck his head in the door, "Hate to break up this walk down nerd memory lane, but it's time for his geekness to get downstairs to Scrabble central."

"Right." Sarah nodded as Casey left. Chuck was still looking at the door when Sarah slipped something in her pocket. As she started for the door, Sarah noticed that she still had Chuck's black Triumph t-shirt in her hands. She turned back to him and tossed it to him with a smile. "Don't forget to wear this; it just might be _our_ lucky day."

* * *

**[STAY TUNED LATER THIS WEEK for a new installment of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man**_**. The shemale is back and this time it has a crush on another Chuck!]**

**[For this chapter's bit of interactive fun, there's an extra special scoop for EACH REVIEWER who posts their own Vogon poetry in their review. Just go to: www . bbc . co .uk / cult / hitchhikers / vogonpoetry / lettergen . shtml . For all of 15 seconds, you answer a random couple questions and then it creates your poem. It's completely a riot. I put mine on my profile page if you're interested!] **


	21. Burning Up The Competition

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks Aardvark7734 – you're the best beta ever! Fans, Aardie endured the torture of betaing this chapter not once, but twice! **

**Also here's a special shout out to all the Vogon poetry readers from the last chapter: blackcat252, DLK, extreme-stratusfaction, FireFromAbove, jagged1, PMoore, Madje Knotts, NickyR, notorious JMG, Utuu, and Wepdiggy! For their participation, they each got a double scoop on the upcoming goodness. If you'd still like to join in on the fun, check out www . bbc . co .uk / cult / hitchhikers / vogonpoetry / lettergen . shtml. Then post your offering in a review!**

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Chapter 21 – Roaring Reno – part 3 – Burning Up the Competition

"It's gonna be my lucky day," Pat Riley said expectantly, all decked out in a blue western-style shirt and tan Dickies. After what happened at the Regional Scrabble Tournament in Glendale, Pat had already decided to cut the Pop Rocks and Mylanta out of the pre-match routine. Still a fervent believer in massive amounts of caffeine though, the shemale downed several packs of Vivarin with a Jolt cola chaser. Then, the moppy-headed spaz turned to the tournament boards to study the first-round match-ups.

"_Ewwwww_!!!" the androgynous one cried out with glee. It was just the rematch Pat had hoped for – one with the new Scrabble super-stud on the block. With a nasal tone, Pat suggestively exclaimed, "_Hello_, Charles Carmichael."

* * *

"A bye for Maury Cheeks," Casey remarked as he and Agent Walker checked out the tournament match-ups. The subject of their mission had drawn 'a bye' for the first round and was nowhere to be found. Chuck wasn't as lucky though – he'd drawn a rematch with the shemale freak of nature Pat Riley.

Just like the Glendale tournament, the plan called for Casey to monitor the tournament floor and watch for Maury Cheeks while Sarah would run surveillance and ensure that Chuck did well enough to stay in the competition until they found Cheeks. Before the agents left for their respective assignments, Casey grabbed his partner's elbow and took her aside.

"Walker, what were you doing up there in Bartowski's room?" The Major wanted to make sure that things stayed 'professional' on this mission, especially in light of the General's recent visit and request to review the surveillance footage of the spy-crossed lovers. Casey knew that nothing good could come from the General's intrusive eye on the situation and he intended to ensure that both of Beckman's eyes stayed in Washington, D.C. for as long as possible.

"Relax Casey. Everything's fine. Chuck was just telling me about his dad. Ellie wants their father to be in her wedding and Chuck is having a hard time finding him," Sarah responded.

"If he's anything like your dad . . . the happy couple better put all their gifts under lock and key," Casey ribbed, expecting to get a rise out of the child grifter turned patriot.

"I wish a lock and key would've stopped my dad," she remarked, catching the man her father called 'Cop Face' off-guard.

"Well, he wasn't all that bad in the end. And . . . we did get to freeze all of Sheik Amad's bank accounts," Casey answered matter-of-factly.

Agent Walker's jaw dropped ever so slightly. The straight-laced by-the-book NSA agent couldn't help but smirk at the reaction he'd drawn from his partner.

"Casey, are you saying the ends justify the means?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Walker, I'm saying that . . ." Casey started, but before he could answer, another voice chimed in.

"I'm here." Casey heard Chuck through his earwig. As the agents separated to their respective posts, the Major heard one more thing from the nerd, "_Oh dear God. Not again!_"

"Hey, no lip-smacking this time, Chuck!" Casey quipped. The Major just couldn't pass up the golden opportunity to remind Bartowski of the last time he'd given Pat a little mouth-to-mouth.

* * *

Pat's chapped lips moved back and forth in anticipation as the new-stud-on-the-Scrabble-block moved toward their game table. As he sat down, Chuck extended his hand to the creepy shemale. "I'm Charles Carmichael, I don't think we were properly introduced in Glendale," he offered while weakly shaking Pat's sticky hand.

"I don't know about that. . . _Charles_, I think that was the best _introduction _I've ever had. . . _EWWW_!!!" Pat exclaimed excitedly with flared nostrils, still holding onto Chuck's hand.

Chuck's eyes widened in horror. Turning his head and covering his mouth with his free hand, he coughed, "_Abort mission_."

"Negative, the perimeter is secure." Chuck could almost see Casey's smirk from across the ballroom.

"Chuck, you'll be alright. Just see if you can get . . . _it_ . . . to let go of your hand." Sarah said, obviously watching Pat's reaction through the camera in Chuck's eyeglasses.

"I guess we need to sit down," Chuck pointed out in an effort to get the creepy person across the table to let go of his hand. As he pulled back, Pat continued to hold on for dear life, bumping into the game board causing the tiles on the table to shake and rattle in front of the troll. Pat finally relented just as the table started to give way. Chuck quickly moved to steady it with his free hand while at the same time wiping both sides of his emancipated palm on his jeans. He knew that it would take a lot more than that to get the sticky residue of Jolt cola and shemale perspiration off his hand but there was no time for that now. As he feared, Chuck's Scrabble misery had only just begun.

Over the loud speakers, the tournament coordinator cleared his throat. "Hello everyone. Please welcome our guest emcee for this year's tournament – Chuck Woolery!"

The crowd cheered enthusiastically as the game show legend with more plastic surgery than a Mattel factory stumbled on to the stage. With a shiny Vaseline grin, he reached for the microphone at the podium.

"Welcome to Love Connection, where old fashioned romance meets modern day technology. Where you hear all of the intimate *hiccup* details of a first date, and I'm your host Chuck Woolery."

The tournament coordinator's eyes bugged out of his head. He leaned over to Mr. Woolery and whispered in his ear.

"Oops, sorry, *hiccup* wrong game." Chuck Woolery said while failing to cover the microphone with his hand. "Wheel of Fortune?" he muttered to the tournament director.

The director shook his head in dismay.

"Lingo?"

The tournament head cringed, this time slapping his head.

"Wait. I got *hiccup* this." Mr. Woolery turned back to the microphone like the seasoned veteran that he was and mumbled without moving his pearly whites, "I should'a known with this crowd."

Just down below the stage, Pat looked up and asked, "Is Chuck drunk?"

"I wish I were," Bartowski muttered as he heard Casey snort through his earwig.

Just when all sober hope appeared to be lost, the game show legend came through for the room full of uber-nerds. "It's a game you've played all your life, but never quite like this!"

"SCRABBLE!" the crowd shouted enthusiastically and all appeared to be forgiven.

With his duties complete, Mr. Woolery stumbled off the stage, barely missing the bottom step, and falling face forward. As he laid there splayed on the floor, he lifted two crooked fingers and mumbled, "Back in 2 and 2."

The frazzled tournament director looked down at the pile of Woolery on the ground not quite knowing what to do. He rushed over to the microphone and said the only thing that came to mind, "Let the tile laying begin."

Chuck shrugged his shoulders and drew a letter to see who would start his match. He drew a 'B' to Pat's 'I'. Chuck was up first and so he drew six more tiles and began to arrange them on his rack.

_. . . . . . . . . . G U N _ B O I L. . . . . . . . . . _

_. . . . . . . . . . B I G _ L U N I. . . . . . . . . . _

_. . . . . . . . . . B U G _ L O I N. . . . . . . . . . _

_. . . . . . . . . . I _ N U L _ B O G. . . . . . . . . . _

_. . . . . . . . . . I _ B U N _ L O G. . . . . . . . . . _

_. . . . . . . . . . I _ B _ N O _ L U G. . . . . . . . . . _

None of these combinations spelled anything appealing. Unlike the last time he was stuck in this position, he was certain this time. Chuck knew exactly what he wanted to say and the things he wanted to ask. If only he could come up with the right combinations to spell it out for the only other person really watching him.

* * *

Sarah watched Chuck's hands as he continued to arrange the letters. What was he trying to spell? She couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind. The last time they were in this position, he'd asked her to spell out what she was thinking. She'd told him NOWAY, but deep down she knew he wasn't really asking what she thought. He was asking how she felt about him. Back then she was UNREADY. But what about now?

Her feelings had only grown for him since then. She didn't know whether it was his confession by the fountain or the secrets he was now keeping that had sparked this change. Perhaps it was _both_ his love for her and his lack of trust in her that pushed these feelings to the forefront.

Agent Walker knew better though. This mission wasn't about what she felt or what she wanted. She understood the trappings of her duty to protect him all too well. It was like what Chuck had spelled out back in Glendale, the limits on their relationship he'd effectively summed up in one word – UNFAIR. It was unfair. Unfair that she couldn't be with him in the way that they both wanted. Unfair that he didn't even know how she felt. Unfair that she couldn't even tell him she _has_ feelings for him.

Or could she? The fact that she was even considering doing so told her how far she'd come on this journey. She wasn't worried about being reassigned (even if she should've been). Instead, Sarah was more concerned by Chuck's increasing distance from her, a distance that was due, at least in part, to her inability to tell him how real her feelings were for him.

"Umm. Hmm." Chuck cleared his throat. "I can't believe what I'm …um…._seeing._" His hands motioned to his rack.

Before noticing what he had spelled out, Sarah responded, "Don't worry Chuck, just stay focused on your tiles, the board, and my voice…" The last part of her advice faded as she realized just exactly what he was saying to her.

_. . . . . . . . . . I_B_ L O N G_ U. . . . . . . . . . _

_You belong to me?_ "I see_,_" she responded nonchalantly in an attempt not to give away too much verbally. After all, she was speaking on an open comm. channel and nothing got past the other member of their team.

Sarah looked through all the word possibilities on the computer in front of her. What could she spell out to Chuck? Was there even a word available that would tell him how she felt about him? It needed to be one that Casey wouldn't pick up on and yet Chuck would understand. She began to narrow down her options.

Suddenly, the monitors and her network access went down. She checked the feeds in the room, concluding that everything was still in working order. Something else was going on. "Casey, we just lost access to everything except Chuck's cam. Chuck go ahead and play whatever you can while we figure out what's going on. I won't be long."

* * *

"This is going to be a long match," Chuck mumbled under his breath while looking down at his t-shirt. _Some 'Triumph'. I should've burned this jinxed t-shirt long ago_. With his Scrabble super spy sleuth gone, he'd lost his long awaited opportunity to finally learn if she actually felt something for him. Meanwhile, this miserable match was only just beginning. Chuck sighed as he looked at his rack and played the only word he saw.

. . . . . . . . . .L-O-N-G. . . . . . . . . .

The shemale across from him grinned sadistically. Taking advantage of his simple play to start the match, the Scrabble freak showed . . . _its_ . . . feelings.

. . . . . . . . . . I-D-O-L-I-Z-E. . . . . . . . . .

"You don't say?" Chuck muttered. _Great, just what I always wanted, to be idolized by a…whatever Pat was_. As much as Chuck tried not to think about the freak across the table from him, it was apparent from the looks he was getting through Pat's coke-bottle glasses that his opponent was definitely thinking about another kind of match.

It wasn't the conversation he'd planned on having or with the person he'd hoped to be talking to when the match began. He'd wanted to get through to _her_ while they played, and after their talk in his hotel room earlier he'd really sensed an opening. It could have been just the right opportunity; a beginning for something real between them. The tiles on his rack emulated his desire to…

. . . . . . . . . . _B E G I N_U S._. . . . . . . . . .

It was one of the questions he'd hoped to ask Sarah. Could there be something real? Could there even be an 'us'? _There was no 'us', _Chuck sighed. She wasn't even there and he was on his own.

He knew that he needed to focus on what he was doing. It really was going to be a 'long' match, he thought, as he looked at his original word. Then, while studying his rack, it came to him. There was one thing that he really wanted from her – a sense of…

. . . . . . . . . . B-E-L-O-N-G-I-N-G. . . . . . . . . .

Chuck played the word and drew more tiles.

"Hmm." Pat leered with a raised uni-brow that danced like an inchworm on the shemale's forehead and played:

. . . . . . . . . .F-L-A-M-E-R. . . . . . . . . .

_Oh no. _It was bad enough that the freak 'idolized' him. Was Pat now 'flaming' for him? _I should've never learned CPR, then I wouldn't have been in this predicament…but wait, that's a terrible thought, I wouldn't want anyone male, female, or… shemale to die. _Still, could this match get any worse? Chuck couldn't bear to look anymore. He closed his eyes and dropped his head in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. _How could Pat think I spelled that word for_…

Before he could finish thinking about the hideous notion, he felt something brush up against his leg. Just barely opening his eyes without moving his head, he glanced down at a bobo sneaker attempting to _stroke…his…LEG?????_

"AHHHH!!!" Chuck jumped back, almost toppling head then heels backward. Barely balancing the teetering chair from its back haunches, he returned it to solid ground but just out of reach of Pat's roaming tentacle of a leg.

He looked at the board to see the word that Pat played:

. . . . . . . . . .A-R-I-A. . . . . . . . . .

Then, the nerd heard what had to be music to his ears. It was better than an aria though, it was a baritone. Through his earwig, the former choirboy of Team Bartowski explained that hotel security had caught another Glendale semi-finalist – Eugene Belford – hacking into the hotel's network in an attempt to get an edge on his competition. It was apparent that the agents had vastly underestimated the cut-throat nature of these semi-professional Scrabble players. Chuck didn't though. He cringed at his desperate opponent who had played footsy with him all in an attempt to distract . . . little Chuck.

"Little did I know Chuck, the lengths…"

Chuck's eyes widened. _Her innuendo is able to respond to my thoughts now?_

"…you know what, never mind. We don't need all the surveillance. We can make it without the cameras," said the Scrabble spy sleuth of his dreams.

Chuck smirked and then breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Innuendo or not, knowing she was back with him was more than enough. And just like that, he caught himself going back to his original question, the one that lingered in his mind – did she feel something for him? It was a question worth asking. A question worth…_pursuing_, and so he arranged his question on his rack.

. . . . . . . . . . _Q_ P U R S U E_. . . . . . . . . .

"Play 'risque' Chuck . . . It'll double your chances . . . I mean your score."

. . . . . . . . . . R-I-S-Q-U-E. . . . . . . . . .

_Oh yeah?_ A mischievous grin crept upon his face at her suggestive response.

His smirk then cracked and fell the moment that the frumpy humpty dumpty across the table from him spoke. "_Ewwww!_ Nice word!" With flaring nostrils, Pat then put down the word:

. . . . . . . . . .E-X-O-T-I-C. . . . . . . . . .

"That's putting it mildly," Chuck muttered, weakly at his androgynous opponent.

"Chuck, forget about . . . whatever that _thing_ is in front of you. Our only motive right now is to win the match. We'll focus on the rest later," the Agent in his ear offered in an attempt to help Chuck focus on the task at hand.

Her pump-up speech worked. Only, Chuck wasn't thinking about winning the match. As he started to arrange the tiles on his rack, he began to think about the rest of Sarah Walker's motives. They…

. . . . . . . . . . _A R E _ P U R E_. . . . . . . . . .

"Rapture," she answered.

"You don't say?" he muttered softly. _So her motives are pure 'rapture'?_ Chuck gave a half-smirk as his over-active imagination started to take over while he played her word.

. . . . . . . . . .R-A-P-T-U-R-E. . . . . . . . . .

Chuck was still daydreaming about Sarah's 'risque' words of 'rapture' when it came time for him to play again. He'd completely lost track of what the strange creature on the other side of the table was doing, but he didn't care. In fact, he didn't care about anything else other than what the woman of his dreams was spelling out for him one word at a time.

"'Yearn' Chuck, 'yearn' goes with 'rapture.'" _So she was 'yearning' now too?_ He smirked as he played her word.

. . . . . . . . . .Y-E-A-R-N. . . . . . . . . .

Feeling a bit bold, he spoke into his watch as he arranged his next set of tiles, "I'm so on to you."

* * *

_. . . . . . . . . .H E _ K N O W S . . . . . . . . . ._

Sarah sat and stared at the response on his rack that appeared on her monitor.

She looked back at the board with scrunched brows and thought for a moment. He knows _what_? Sarah's smile fell slightly. She knew that all this Scrabble foreplay was dangerous. They were on a mission and no matter what her feelings were toward Chuck – feelings that 'he knows' about now – she couldn't jeopardize his safety or national security just to act on those feelings.

Still, something within her told her that if she couldn't act on those feelings at least she could spell out what she'd like to do about them. "Play 'KISS,'" she told him and he followed her lead.

. . . . . . . . . .K-I-S-S. . . . . . . . . .

She heard a grunt as the other member of their team piped in, "While he's at it why don't you have him play 'smooch', 'smack', 'french', 'peck', 'pucker up', 'suck face', or 'swap spit?'"

"Very funny Casey," Sarah snapped back. _Damn open channel._

"You want to come look at his rack and figure out what to tell Chuck?" she dared knowing that there was no way that he'd switch roles with her.

"Oh no, but I'm sure he'd like to check out your rack," the Major quipped.

"Oh, that's just great," she responded.

"Besides, I think you've got it covered 'Miss Risque Rapture Yearns for a Kiss'. But you're going to have to get in line cause I think the beached whale in front of him has got plans of _its_ own."

"Casey we're on a mission. I'm just trying to keep this professional," she protested.

"What? You mean the world's oldest…"

"Umm, humm." Chuck cleared his throat, bringing the fact that he was still there to the attention of the 'unprofessional' government agents acting more like grade school children.

During the spat, Sarah had failed to notice that the monitor showing Chuck's cam had gone dark and fuzzy. "Great. Now I've lost Chuck."

"Oh don't get your panties in a wad, he's just cleaning his glasses, probably to get a better look at his play date across the table." Casey just wouldn't give up.

"What?" Chuck remarked.

"Look, you're going to make him blow his cover. Unless you've got something productive to add – I suggest that you do your job and find Maury Cheeks. I've got a match to win." Sarah responded, although she really wasn't speaking about the Scrabble.

"Fine. Walker, he's all yours," Casey huffed as he left the ballroom to patrol the perimeter.

Then, all of a sudden she saw his face. With Chuck's knowing smirk, Sarah could tell that he'd heard everything that had just transpired between the agents and apparently had even read between the lines.

"Well at least the view's a little better now," he chuckled as he'd apparently made a big production of cleaning his glasses.

She saw Chuck's lip curl as he silently drew more tiles and arranged them, all the while still holding his glasses in front of him. His smile widened to the point that it was plastered over his entire face.

"You know, I should probably put my glasses back on to make sure that I'm _seeing _this correctly." She heard him chuckle under his breath. He was enjoying this way too much.

. . . . . . . . . ._H O W _ D E N Y _. . . . . . . . . .

From the dark surveillance room, Sarah knew that there was no denying it now especially now that Major Pain was distracted. "'Need,'" she said into her microphone_. She did need him after all._

. . . . . . . . . .N-E-E-D. . . . . . . . . .

"Oh yeah?" he said as he played her response and then started to arrange his new tiles.

. . . . . . . . . ._N N_ T O U C H_. . . . . . . . . .

"Oh, so that's what you want?" She smiled. "Maybe we can use that word later. Right now, I think 'enchant' is probably better. You've still got to win _this match_, right?" she corrected with a smirk. He followed the instructions of his enchanting Scrabble super spy sleuth and placed the word on the board.

. . . . . . . . . .E-N-C-H-A-N-T. . . . . . . . . .

* * *

Still enchanted, Chuck looked at the letters left on his rack – O and U. Then he drew the four remaining letters in the bag placing them in succession – V-E-I-L. He smiled. When Charles Carmichael, International Man of Scrabble Misery had begun this match, he hadn't realized that the mystery behind Sarah Walker's feelings would be unveiled before his own eyes.

He needed to tell her something as he began to re-arrange his final six letters. Luckily for him, he was able to spell out the very thing that he'd wanted to say to her all along.

. . . . . . . . . ._I _ L O V E _ U_. . . . . . . . . ._._

"Are you getting this?" He spoke with barely a whisper into his wrist watch. He was taking a risk and he knew it. This was much different than that night at the fountain. He'd not actually come right out and said he loved her that night. His heart raced, pounded even as he waited in silence for anything and then, he got his response.

"Yes."

* * *

Sarah paused and thought about what to say next. She knew what he wanted her to say, but speaking those words would definitely trigger a response from the other member of their team who may very well be listening to them. Still, they were behind in the match and based on the letters he had left there was only one play for them to make.

"LOVE," she said. "Chuck, put LOVE right under DEVOTED." Then she added, "It's a triple score. We might have a chance after all."

. . . . . . . . . .L-O-V-E. . . . . . . . . .

"So what are we left with now?" She asked as the camera focused down to the two remaining letters on his rack.

. . . . . . . . . ._U_ _ _I _. . . . . . . . . .

"Just U and I?" Sarah couldn't help but smile a smile that lit up even the darkest recesses of the pitch black room where she was stationed. She had one final thing to say, "I believe . . . 'in' 'us.'"

* * *

Chuck knew what she was saying and spelling. He played his two remaining tiles as he blushed just thinking about the final three words they played – '_love in us'_.

As the score was being tallied, Chuck remained off in another land staring at all the words of compassion laying in plain view before him. The answers to the mystery that he had been searching for, were spelled out right in front of this International Man of Scrabble Misery. Regardless of the score, he knew that…

"We won Chuck! We won by 2 points." He heard her say excitedly over his earwig.

"I guess LOVE does triumph over all," he quipped into his 'lucky' t-shirt. Then he added, "I never doubted 'us.'" His gleam transcended the tournament floor as he imagined the angelic soft features of the voice in his ear that got him through this experience and told him something quite unexpected.

"There is no 'us,' Charles." The nasally tone of his opponent snapped him out of his reverie. Chuck blinked deliberately a few times to focus. He noticed Pat sourly pouting with crossed arms. The Scrabble spaz was apparently more than a little sore about the score.

"Wha…" Chuck started but then stopped. He needed to change the subject and fast. He looked around and saw the perfect opening. "Hey, look Chuck Woolery's coming over."

The bumbling game show legend that shared his name had finally picked himself up and stumbled over to their table. Watching the change in Pat's expression, Chuck knew that there was no denying the spaz had quite a thing for the game show legend. In a matter of seconds, the shemale had forgotten all about losing the match. Instead, Pat glared ahead transfixed at a new love connection, but this time the spaz wasn't interested in Chuck . . . Carmichael. No, Pat had moved on to higher scoring tiles.

Apparently, the Bartowski CPR routine was nothing compared to the Woolery that the other Chuck had pulled over the shemale's eyes. And all it took was four words from the hiccuping emcee as he looked at the scrabble board in front of them, "Talk about nerd connection."

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**[STAY TUNED for the next installment of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man, **_**where both ****Sweet Cheeks and dad spill the beans!]**

**[For this chapter's bit of interactive goodness, who can name the most game shows hosted by Chuck…Woolery that is?]**

**[A/N: The original version of this chapter got too bogged down in the tile play, so some 'words' were cut for length. If you'd like to see all the words of compassion that were actually played during the match featured here, check out the avatar on my profile page. And yes, Chuck actually did win the match and…**_**the girl**_**.]**


	22. The Interrogation Heats Up

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks Aardvark7734 – you're the best beta ever!**

**Congratulations Utuu for identifying the most game shows that Chuck Woolery has hosted through the years! For winning Ch.21's prize, he gets the opportunity to suggest a song on Chuck's pink iPod! **

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**Chapter 22 – Roaring Reno, part 4 – The Interrogation Heats Up**

He'd had enough of the nerd connection. Chuck was looking forward to seeing his love connection. Still in the afterglow of learning what she'd _spelled out_ for him only moments before, he was now anxious to find out just how far Sarah was willing to go to _tell him_ her feelings. What if she told him how she felt? What then? Suddenly, Chuck's throat went dry as his stomach churned in anticipation of the unknown.

Noticing the vending machine across from the elevators, he decided to grab a soda before he headed back to his room, where he hoped she would be waiting for him. He punched his selection and waited for it to drop to the bottom of the machine. As he leaned down to grab the can, Chuck spoke into his wrist watch, "How'd we ever get through that?" It wasn't what he really wanted to ask her, but he knew that Major Meddlesome was still listening.

"I told you, we make a good team," said the object of his affection.

"Save the victory lap for later, have either of you seen Maury Cheeks?" Chuck heard Casey bark through his earwig.

Chuck straightened back up and popped the top on his soda. As he took a swig, he noticed just the man that Team Bartowski was looking for – _Maury Cheeks._

All of a sudden, Chuck felt nauseous. There was a tingling in his spine which moved up and down the back of his neck. His eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw fell slack. Suddenly, image after image rushed to the front of his mind's eye.

_. . . . . . . . . . A red-and-black tinted image of a 76er basketball player dunking.__  
_. . . . . . . . . . Maury Cheeks in the buff with his hands zip-tied, thankfully in front._  
_. . . . . . . . . . A Nevada citation for lewd behavior._  
_. . . . . . . . . . Naked people around a burning effigy in the desert._  
_. . . . . . . . . . That same effigy with an Airstream trailer in the foreground.___  
_. . . . . . . . . . A picture of the R7 prototype laptop._  
_. . . . . . . . . . A schematic for the Intersect core._  
_. . . . . . . . . . A picture of an Intersect room with a black-and-white eagle emblem on the center console._  
_. . . . . . . . . . A building schematic for Roark Industries.___  
_. . . . . . . . . . A red-and-black tinted image of a 76er basketball player dunking.

It was the mother-load of flashes. Chuck dropped his drink as he snapped forward on the balls of his feet and then back to reality.

"Are you okay?" Maury bent down to pick up the fallen can before it spewed all of its contents on the floor. "You look like you just had a seizure."

"Oh yeah?" Chuck blinked deliberately a few times and rubbed his head. "_Maury Cheeks_, right? I'm glad that we could finally meet . . . you know, here in the hallway . . . near the Coke machine on the 2nd floor . . . outside the main ballroom," Chuck said nervously trying to tip-off Casey as to their exact whereabouts.

Of course, Chuck could tell that his strange behavior wasn't missed by the nerd with the comb-over in front of him. "How'd you know my name?"

"We met back in Glendale. What, you don't remember?" Chuck said, obviously stalling for time.

Suddenly, Chuck found himself wondering about his own question. He remembered Maury Cheeks to be sure, but why did he flash on him just now? More to the point, why _didn't_ he flash on him in Glendale? It made no sense.

The red-and-black tinted flash _looked_ different than most of his earlier flashes. It was more like the strange flash he'd had a few weeks earlier in the Buy More of that elderly lady from the Happy Heights Retirement Center. There was something about the symbol in the photograph of the Intersect Room – a black and white eagle with six stars above its wings – _the Fulcrum emblem_. It was a Fulcrum flash!

It made sense now. Chuck hadn't gotten the Dark Intersect, as he liked to call it, until after he'd won the Glendale Tournament. The Dark Intersect must have supplied this intel on the man in front of him.

He noticed Maury's eyes nervously darting back and forth past Chuck's shoulders. Just as Maury was about to bolt, Casey came up behind him. In one move, the Major reached in, grabbing Maury's wrist. With a firm twist, Casey completely immobilized the comb-over nerd.

"Owww! Owww! _OWWW!_ Wait, where are you taking me?" Maury desperately asked as Casey pushed him to the elevator.

_DING._

The elevator doors opened and Casey moved them inside. "Are you coming, Agent Carmichael?" Casey asked, holding the elevator door open with his boot.

"Oh yeah," Chuck shook his head in an attempt to clear the cob-webs that lingered from the Fulcrum flash.

"Who are you people? FBI? ATF? DEA?" Maury asked, obviously searching for answers.

Casey snickered, "Right. The DEA at a Scrabble tournament?"

"You'd be surprised what the pros will do to get an edge on the competition," he said, weakly.

"I wouldn't," Chuck muttered, still reeling over his first round opponent's groping footsy routine.

"Oh, so you want us to spell it out for you? Well, this is Agent . . .Maddog. That's spelled M-A-D-D-O-G." Casey spelled and thought for a moment, "And I'm Agent . . . Boone's Farm, that's B-O-O . . ."

Chuck rolled his eyes.

"Great. The ATF. Look, I already called and told you guys what I knew about that shipment," Maury interjected.

"Shipment? Why don't you remind us?" Casey insisted, pressing his hand down on Maury's shoulder.

Maury turned nervously and stared at Casey's hand as he continued to apply pressure to the nerd's shoulder. "Wait, I know you. You're with the ATF? But you're that guy that . . .I, uh . . . " He stopped dead in his tracks zoning out when he saw Casey's military service ring.

"Uh, Case. . . I mean Agent . . . Boone's Farm. . ." Chuck remembered. "Be careful. He's an epileptic, remember?"

Maury Cheeks abruptly snapped forward onto the balls of his feet and back to reality.

"Are you okay?" Chuck asked with concern.

Casey gave with a wide cheeky introduction, "Mr. Sweet Cheeks, meet Mr. Nerd Cheeks."

"Really? That's the best you could come up with?" Chuck huffed.

Casey grunted and looked at both of them up and down with elevator eyes. "You both have the same look."

Chuck misunderstood the Major's point.

"What? Your flashes, idiot." Chuck still thought Casey was talking about both nerds showing their bare cheeks.

_DING._

The elevator doors opened and Casey pushed Cheeks forward and down the hallway. Chuck followed them to his hotel room.

"Get the door," Casey instructed.

"Wait, why my room?" Chuck asked. He still held out hope that he'd be able to talk to Sarah about what she had just spelled out to him during the Scrabble tournament.

With narrowed eyes and a clinched jaw, the Major focused his stare.

"Fine." Chuck obliged and opened the door to his room.

Casey shooed Maury over to a chair next to the bed. Pulling out a pair of handcuffs, the Major secured one of Cheeks' wrists to the chair.

"What now?" Chuck asked.

"Yeah, what are you guys going to do with me?" Maury blabbed nervously.

"Why don't you go check on things next door, while I have a little chat with Sweet Cheeks here?" Casey instructed.

Maury looked back at Chuck with bargaining eyes. Chuck knew that the ruddy-faced Cheeks wouldn't last long.

"Oh, don't you worry. Look at my face. I'm the good cop. If you cooperate, you won't see _Maddog_ again," the cop-face insisted.

* * *

_Maddog_, Sarah grinned to herself as Chuck entered Casey's room. She wasn't really sure what to say to _Maddog_ after what she'd spelled out to him during the Scrabble tournament, so she continued to focus on packing up the surveillance equipment over by the bed. With Cheeks in custody, they would be heading back to Burbank as soon as they completed their interrogation.

Chuck made a big production of taking out his earwig as he shut the door behind him. "_Yuck!_ We've really got to work on Casey's interrogation shtick, it's so . . . Reno 911."

Sarah looked up at him, "When you're in . . ."

"Reno, do as the _Re-NO-ans_ do?" Chuck attempted to make a joke, his eyebrows askew.

Her lip curled in a half-smirk, "No. Actually what I was going to say was . . . when you were in _the elevator_ just now, what happened?"

Before he answered, Chuck turned away from her and looked at the mirror on the wall. Only, she knew that he couldn't see her reflection or even his own. Instead, he saw Casey talking to Maury Cheeks in _his _room.

"Great, a two-way mirror. Even when I'm away from home, I don't have any privacy."

_Tell me about it. _That was exactly the problem. They never had any time alone. There was always a mission, she was always his protector and there was always someone keeping a watchful eye on both of them. Still, she understood his importance and how it was her job to protect him. Both of these truths were much more important than how she felt about him. Up to now she'd been able to keep those feelings buried – that was until earlier when she'd 'spelled it out' for him. She sighed.

Chuck was still staring at the two men in his room. She saw Maury look down at Casey's hand. "Great, there he goes again. Geez, Casey really needs to take him out of the handcuffs. That guy just had another seizure."

His comment reminded Sarah of her previous question. "That's what I was going to ask you about. Did Cheeks have a _seizure _in the elevator?"

"Yeah. It was just like the one he had in Glendale when he saw Casey . . ." Chuck's voice trailed off. She could tell that he was starting to put it all together.

"Look Chuck, I need to tell you something," Sarah started.

"No wait, Sarah, I think…" Chuck interrupted.

_Why did he always have to interrupt me? _Well, not this time. He needed to know. He deserved to know about this.

"Chuck. I need to tell you something," Sarah insisted.

He stopped and tilted his head, looking back at her with focused eyes. "Oh, yeah?"

Sarah nodded. She paused and considered her words carefully. "Chuck, that is what you look like when you . . ." Sarah bit the bottom of her lip in hesitation. She didn't know how he was going to take the news.

"Flash?" He finished for her. "Wow. No wonder you guys freak out . . . Wait, how long have you known this? Why didn't you tell me before? Does that mean that _he_ has an Intersect too?" Chuck pointed to the balding nerd in the next room.

Sarah wanted to answer each of his questions. She wanted to tell him that she'd known about this possibility since the Glendale Tournament but that General Beckman had ordered them not to say anything. Before she could answer him, her partner walked in the room.

Agent Casey gave Agent Walker a knowing look. She grimaced in return. Apparently, the Major interrogator was listening to the interrogation that was going on in this room as well.

"We don't know, but that's what we need to find out," Sarah answered in part. _Why'd Casey have to come in right at that moment?_ It was bad enough that Chuck was keeping something from her. Now she was giving him every reason to do so. Worse, she was giving him every reason not to trust her.

Chuck's quizzical expression spoke for him. She could tell that he didn't miss the fact that she had intentionally glossed over his first two questions and instead had chosen to only half-answer the last one.

Sarah paused and attempted to redirect the conversation before he pushed for answers that she was ordered not to give him. "Chuck, what did you see when you flashed on Maury Cheeks?"

"Well, there was a picture of him in the buff, a Nevada arrest citation for lewd behavior, a bunch of naked people in the desert, an Airstream Trailer, and a picture of a computer. I think it was the R7 prototype from Roark Instruments," Chuck answered and very deliberately shut his mouth.

* * *

Chuck continued to press his lips together. Sarah just stood there waiting. He couldn't tell whether it was her inviting eyes or his guilt that made his conscious wrestle within himself. There was definitely more to his flash and he wanted to tell her all about it but then he remembered Orion's instructions. Besides, she had just evaded his questions, practically admitting that she was keeping something from him. Whatever it was, he knew that it wasn't something about her past. She was holding back something that was about _him. _Maybe Orion was right after all. For now, he'd hold on to the rest of the information in his flash, at least until he was sure that he could trust her.

"So let me get this straight. You had a flash of a guy who flashes and apparently likes to flash people, that's a bit flashy don't you think?" Casey quipped.

Chuck slapped his head in disbelief. _Where does he come up with this stuff?_ Before Chuck could even let out a groan though, the Major left to check on Cheeks.

"What's this button?" Chuck asked over by the mirror, pushing it before he got a response. Suddenly, he could hear Casey and Cheeks talking in his room.

Maury looked up at the Major, "You guys need to infiltrate Roark Industries, I think Ted is involved…"

Casey nodded at the subject dismissively.

"Look, I'm serious. Besides, this thing in my head is ruining _my life_," Cheeks said, exasperated while letting out an exhausted breath.

Casey turned away from his subject and looked back in the mirror. It was obvious that the Major had heard this line before.

"I can't think straight. I smell motor oil on the road, see a face in a crowd, hear a disk jockey on the radio, and then I zone out with image after image flooding through my mind along with these codes," Cheeks lamented.

"What codes?" Casey asked with a raised brow. He turned back to Cheeks.

"I don't know, they're encrypted. They seem to be something related to the military. Can you please get them out of my head?" Cheeks begged.

"I'm not sure Mr. Sweet Cheeks," Casey responded, "Why don't you tell me what you remember happening after you first started 'zoning out' – as you call it."

"Well, I was at work on the operating system for the new R7 laptop we're about to roll out. Late one night while working, I stumbled on some letter codes that I didn't recognize and then a bunch of images popped up out of nowhere. There were images of my boss Ted Roark and a bunch of other people I didn't recognize. Some of the pictures looked pretty old. I didn't think much of those, but then there were others…"

"Oh yeah? What'd you see?"

"Guns, lots of guns. Other types of weaponry, guidance systems and how to get around certain types of encryption codes."

Casey let out a long grunt with a half-smile until he saw Cheeks' smirk.

"That's why I called you guys. I figured with all of those guns, the ATF would want to know about it. It's like I told you in the elevator, Agent Boone's Farm. Umm, that's not really your name is it?"

Casey snickered. "Call me Casey."

"Casey. Well, I guess that's better than Daniel…or Pat."

"Unlike some," Casey smirked into the mirror, "My parents weren't sadists. Wait, what's wrong with Pat Boone?"

"Oh come on," said the comb-over nerd in the faded 'Five for Fighting' t-shirt. "'I Almost Lost My Mind,' 'April Love,' and 'Love Letters In The Sand?' Oh and let's not forget such _classics _as 'The Way Dang Taffy Apple Tango' and 'When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano.' You know that those are real song names right? Well, not real songs…" The nerd made a big production of gagging by sticking the index finger of his free hand down his throat.

"Okay, you're not a fan, but he's still a great patriot," the major conservative responded.

"If you say so." Cheeks rolled his eyes. "Look, all Pats are just weird in my book. Have you seen that freak – Pat Riley – downstairs? _It_ tried to jump me before the Glendale tournament, until Agent Maddog arrived. By the way, thanks for taking my call. I didn't know what I would've done back in Glendale if the ATF hadn't shown up."

"So…after you initially called _us, _what happened?"

"In a matter of minutes, I noticed something strange happening on the computer prototype. It was as if someone had taken control of it by remote and the pictures started to disappear."

"What did you do?"

"I disconnected the laptop, shut it down, pulled out the motherboard, and then put it in an old Prism Express model that I had on my work bench. Within seconds, I heard a bunch of men coming down the hall, so I grabbed the makeshift laptop and hid under another desk. They came in my office, took what was left of the prototype and then they left. One of the guys left a satellite phone on my desk and so I took it with me and ran. When I got home, my place had been ransacked."

"What did you do next?"

"I literally ran with the clothes I had on my back. I drove east until I ran out of gas. I didn't have anything except that laptop and the phone. Then the phone started ringing and wouldn't stop."

"Did you answer it?"

"Yes. It was this weird distorted voice. You know, kind of like the aliens on the mini-series 'V'? The voice told me that I had some information that _they_ wanted. And that _they_ were coming for me."

"Aliens were coming for you?" Casey snickered.

"_Pshaw_. Come on. Only a moron would believe in aliens."

* * *

From the room next door, Sarah couldn't help but smirk. _Did every nerd interrogation involve aliens and hearing voices?_

She looked up at the discussion going on next door as Maury Cheeks continued, "Anyway, I ran into these hippies traveling on this weird contraption that they called the 'mothership' while they were on their way to this festival in the desert."

That's it, Sarah thought, the guy had to be related to Jeff Barnes. A long lost cousin, brother, uncle, uncle and brother, there had to be some in-breeding going on – there was no way that two perverts with the same hair, eye twitches, and god only knows what else could not be related.

* * *

"So I went with them," Cheeks explained.

"Who was this guy? The one with the voice, not the Soddomites, " the Major asked.

"I don't know who _he _was but he kept calling and instructing me on how disseminate the codes that I was seeing. My fellow travelers on the 'mothership' told me all about 'the man'. They said that 'the man' would do everything he could to keep me down. And that 'the man' was always watching."

"I think that's big brother . . ." Casey responded.

"Or Uncle Casey," Chuck said into his watch.

"Can it moron. I'm sorry . . . not you Mr. Cheeks, as you were saying?"

Cheeks sighed, "Well, so when we got to the festival, my fellow travelers told me that I needed to get rid of everything that I had in order to be truly free. It seemed to make sense at the time. After all, when the NSA came after Will Smith in _Enemy of the State,_ he had to get rid of everything including his clothes. Damn NSA had bugs crawling all over him," Maury explained.

"You don't say."

Casey snapped his head back straight to the mirror and gave a sneer at Chuck's commentary.

"Umm, Casey you're sneering at Sarah right now." The nerd in the other room joked in Casey's ear.

Maury continued without looking up at his interrogator. "So I did. I shed everything I had on me even my clothes," the nerd said, weakly.

"Then I met up with this half-baked stoner and I had an idea. I gave him the laptop and I told the kid about Irene Demova . . . you know, the Serbian porn goddess? At the time, her website was still infected by this deadly virus…"

"When was this again?" Casey asked. _Did all computer nerds know about the Demova virus? _

"Last September," he answered. "So, I knew that the stoner would take care of the rest." Maury said with a wicked smile.

"I see."

"Then there was this guy who fixed my traveling cock," Maury started.

"We can go ahead and engage a 'don't ask don't tell' policy for the rest of this interrogation, alright?" Casey instructed rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. It was apparent that this interrogation was becoming tougher than the tough man had imagined.

"He oiled my chain," Cheeks tried to explain.

"Yeah, I'm not sure I like where this is going myself." Casey heard Chuck say through his earwig.

"And then I was as good as new." Cheeks smiled.

Casey's lip curled as he rolled his eyes.

"I bartered with him . . . that's what you do there – at Burning Man. I threw him the phone and made sure that I missed. The phone shattered into pieces. That way, I knew no one could contact me or him with the phone and no one could be harmed by whomever kept calling and threatening me." Maury explained.

"What was this man's name? The one that oiled your . . . traveling cock?" Casey asked, disgusted that he even had to say those words.

"Gearhead Gary, I think. But, I don't think that was his real name."

"Look, if you say he looked like a Mark, Rick or Steve—we are definitely instituting 'don't ask don't tell,'" the military man warned.

"Wow Casey, I'm impressed, a 'Steel Magnolias' quote, who made you watch that movie?" Chuck asked with a chuckle.

"Mother," Casey answered before he realized what he was saying. Then his eyes bugged out of his head. _Who was being interrogated here?_

Casey moved over to the other side of the mirror. With fire in his eyes, he stared ahead with a hard glare. He ceremoniously took his earwig out of his ear, dropped it to the table in front of him, and then he flinched at the mirror. _Message sent._ He couldn't be sure but he swore that he heard a girlish scream come from the room next door. With a satisfied smile, he turned back to Maury Cheeks and resumed his interrogation alone without the pesky bug in his ear.

* * *

"AHHHHH!" Chuck screamed in an octave only dogs could hear as he fell back on the bed behind him. "You, know, as interesting as this is, I think I need to take a trip to the little boys room." Chuck hobbled quickly over to the bathroom and closed the door. Casey scared the mess out of him.

* * *

"He was a mess – you know, a real character. I don't know what his real name was, I just knew him as Gearhead Gary," Maury told Casey.

"What do you remember about him?"

"He was really handy. He had this old Airstream trailer. And, he kept to himself. I think he lived out there year round. He had this picture . . .you know, come to think of it, the kid in the picture looked a lot like the Agent that was just in here – Agent Maddog or is it Charles Carmichael?"

"Moron…" Casey muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Cheeks asked.

"Nothing. Call him Chuck. His parents were sadists." He'd heard the 'moron' give this line on countless occasions with all his 'moron' friends at the Buy 'Moron' plaza.

Cheeks raised a brow.

Casey looked back at him, "So about this picture…"

"Right. The picture was of this girl and boy. The girl had long brown hair and blue eyes – a real knock out. She was in a high school graduation cap and gown. The bottom of the photograph said, 'Hartford High School – Class of 1996'. Her arm was wrapped around the younger guy in the photo. Back at the Burning Man Festival, when I looked at the young guy in the picture, I just 'zoned out'. That's when I saw all those images – after looking at the kid's face."

Casey's eyes widened. "What did you just say? What images?"

Casey looked straight into the mirror and thought, _'What do we tell Chuck?'_

* * *

'_What do we tell Chuck?'_ Sarah thought as she met Casey's stare from the other side of the two way mirror.

Chuck walked out of the bathroom looking more relieved than when he went in there.

Sarah's eyes remained locked with Casey's. She didn't know what to say or even how to begin.

Chuck looked at Sarah perplexed and asked, "What? What is it? Did I miss something? Come on, tell me. Did Cheeks say something important about that crazy guy in the desert?"

* * *

Steve had spent years in the Nevada desert – so many that he often found himself going stir-crazy due to his isolation. Parran had been the perfect place to get lost but now, thankfully, it was time for him to be found. And Steve knew just the place. There was this mountain in the center of the Mojave preserve just over the state line and about 100 miles east of Barstow. It had his name written all over it – Old Dad Mountain, California.

His family needed him and he needed them. All his son needed to do now was to come to the mountain and look for his dear old dad. Then, they'd be able to take care of the rest together.

At the California border, the highway number changed to CA-127 but the desolate scenery stayed the same. More tumbleweeds than cars criss-crossed his path as he made his way toward his destination. At Baker, he crossed under I-15 until the road eventually dead-ended at Old Dad Mountain in the center of the Mojave Desert. Steve parked the RV and unhitched the '91 Jeep Grand Wagoneer that had towed it. After parking the truck just over the horizon he walked back to trailer. There was no one for miles. It was hard to imagine a place more secluded than the spot that he'd only left the day before. But here, even the coyotes didn't join him. He was completely alone.

Steve stepped inside the trailer and sat down on the couch. He stared at the jerry-rigged satellite phone covered in duct tape for a moment. It was time.

It was time to put his plan into motion. He could almost feel the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He was nervous – not because he was about to come out of hiding – he was anxious to see his kids again.

"I guess there's no time like the present…" Steve picked up the phone and dialed the first number.

"Hello. . . Did you ask, pick up or delivery? . . . Both. . . Okay, my name is _Stephen J. Bartowski._ Yes, and I'd like a large vegetarian pizza, no olives. . . I'm just east of Old Dad Mountain. . . . Yeah, that's in California, it's about 100 miles east of Barstow. . . What do you mean you don't deliver?"

_DIAL TONE._

"Guess, Old Dad won't be having pizza tonight." Steve chuckled.

"Hmmm," he mumbled while rubbing his stomach, "How about a sandwich? Yeah, that would hit the spot." Steve dialed the number.

"Hello, is this Subway? Yeah, I'd like to order a half meatball and . . .half tuna footlong for _Orion." _Steve owed the cat and his counterpart. "Oh, yes, this is Stephen Bartowski. . . . No, I'm not the football player . . . No, I didn't play for U.C. Berkeley . . . Yeah, I get that all the time, until you see me and my pocket protector . . . Yeah, he spells his name with a 'V', mine's with a 'PH'. Yes, that's S-T-E-P-H-E-N J. B-A-R-T-O-W-S-K-I. . . . Okay, I'm out on Old Dad Mountain. . . . How long will it take to deliver? . . . Hello?"

_DIAL TONE._

Steve cackled. This was way too much fun.

"I bet if I was on a deserted island I could get a sandwich." Steve cracked up at his reference to one of his son's favorite pastimes. As his laughter subsided, he took a deep breath. Suddenly, he caught himself thinking about why he was doing this again. If his plan worked, pretty soon he'd able to hear Chuck gab away for hours about his favorite sandwiches _in person._

It was time to let his fingers do the talking. Steve reached over to his trenchcoat hanging on the trailer door and pulled his wrist computer from his coat pocket.

"Maybe I could order a little Chinese for old times' sake," he said a bit more subdued. Steve looked over at a picture of his wife on the coffee table. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think about her. His sacrifice had been nothing compared to hers. _Damn government bastards._ He'd thought he'd tracked her down in Hong Kong, but she had already been shipped out. Contact with her turned out to be just too risky even for the mighty Orion. Still he'd never give up hope. He would find her again, but first he had to reunite with his kids.

He looked up a restaurant a little closer to home. He typed in the words he wanted.

. . . . . . . . . . _This is Steve Bartowski. I'd like to place an order. Peking duck. I'm on Old Dad Mountain. It's in California. _

He hit 'translate' and then sent his message.

. . . . . . . . . . 这是史蒂夫 Bartowski. 我想要订货. 鸭子. 我在旧爸爸山上. 它在加利福尼亚.

Steve laughed as he read the restaurant's response. Then he typed,

. . . . . . . . . . _This is not a joke._

He hit 'translate' and sent his response.

. . . . . . . . . . 这不是一个玩笑.

"I think they are on to me." He chortled. Before the restaurant responded, without thinking Steve typed a final message into his decoder.

. . . . . . . . . . 不忘记到喝酒你的 Ovaltine.

_DIAL TONE_.

Steve fell back on the couch in laughter. He looked down at the phone in his hand as his laughter slowly died down.

"I guess The Last Dragon Chinese Restaurant doesn't deliver to dear Old Dad either." He rose up.

"Well maybe this time the CIA will." Steve tossed the beat up satellite phone on the couch.

Now it really was time for dinner. Steve wanted to celebrate. He took the two steps to his kitchette and looked in the cupboard. He grabbed the mix and a bowl. Tonight was a pancakes night. As he mixed the batter in the bowl, Steve couldn't suppress the grin that was plastered all over his face.

If ECHELON didn't pick up those calls, he'd lose all faith in big brother.

**

* * *

****[STAY TUNED for the next installment of **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man, **_**where ****Chuck will meet a Golden Girl and just might join the Mile High Club. If you post a review and I promise to send you a scoop as I finish up the next chapter!]**

**[For this chapter's bit of interactive fun, the first person to correctly decode dad's message to the Last Dragon Chinese Restaurant ****(****不忘记到喝酒你的 ****Ovaltine) will win this chapter's prize!]**


	23. Flying Hot A Mile High

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Aardvark7734 is the best beta ever! He swears that I'm about to double my readership with this and the next chapter. I don't know about all of that, but I do promise double scoops of Obama Guava fro yo for all my reviewing friends.**

**Congratulations blackcat23! For winning Ch.22's prize, he gets to suggest a song on Chuck's pink iPod! **

* * *

**Chapter 23 – Roaring Reno, part 5 – Flying Hot A Mile High**

"You know, you're not my big brother. Although now that I think about it . . . with all the cameras, maybe you are," Chuck said to Casey as they began to board their plane at the Reno-Tahoe International terminal.

"Can it. Cheeks doesn't need to know about all of that even if he is cooperating with us," the Major instructed with a hushed tone near Chuck's ear.

Turning back to their newest traveling companion, Chuck said, "Maury, I'm glad you're with us 'cause I don't think you and Mr. Malcontent here could've fit in the back seat of our Ford Focus."

"I wanted to put your nerd cheeks in the trunk but your _girlfriend_ has gone soft. So I guess we'll have to save your third trip in a trunk for another day."

"Are they always like this?" Maury asked Sarah as they boarded the already packed plane.

"Pretty much," Sarah answered.

"He just loves my girlish screams in the face of danger," Chuck joked.

"Yeah, and Carmichael here just loves my boot up his…" Casey stopped and nodded at the grandma who was already occupying the window seat that was next to his. "Ma'am." Casey said, motioning for Cheeks to take the seat across the aisle.

Chuck and Sarah filed in behind them with Chuck sitting next to the window and behind the elderly woman and Sarah taking the aisle seat behind Casey on the last row in first class.

Chuck remained quiet through the rest of their boarding, the pre-flight instructions, and even during take off. A half hour into their ninety minute flight, he continued to stare blankly out the window at the empty sky.

Sarah hadn't said a word to him since they'd finished interrogating Cheeks. She wasn't a woman of many words but even she used . . . _some_ words. Sarah was keeping something important from him and it was eating her up inside.

Chuck turned to her, "There's something you aren't telling me."

Casey leaned back and interrupted, "What? That you're a moron?"

Sarah gave her partner a curt smile. Then she turned back to Chuck with feigned incredulity and asked, "What do you mean?"

"You know…" Chuck pointed to his cheeks and nodded at the back of Maury's balding head.

Casey interrupted, "That numb-nuts there thinks a fruit roll-up is both a fruit and a candy."

"Well, they are, aren't they?" Sweet Cheeks responded from across the aisle.

Sarah was relieved that the older nerd had distracted the Major from his verbal assault, maybe Chuck would follow suit. After all, he often debated the 'finer' points of Milk-duds vs. Sugar Babies, Gummy Bears vs. Gummy Worms, and god knows he could talk about sandwiches for days. But not this time. Chuck wasn't taking the bait.

He lowered his voice and moved closer to Sarah, "I'm right. You _are_ keeping something from me." He just wasn't going to let this go.

Sarah considered her response. She was in an impossible spot. She had resolved not to lie to Chuck months ago. She might have kept a few things from him about her past since their talk by the fountain, but she hadn't outright lied to him. But after their interrogation last night the General had ordered her to keep Cheeks' possible connection to Chuck's father top secret. She wasn't allowed to tell him anything about it and she could tell that Casey was listening in to see if she would keep her orders.

With slightly widened eyes, Sarah signaled to Chuck to pay attention. "Look," she said, flicking her eyes down to her hand and then back to him. When he didn't take the hint she repeated the motion, but held the glance down a bit longer. He got the idea and looked down to see her signing in a language she already knew that he understood, all in an effort to avoid being overheard by the Major Pain in front of them. As soon as she saw he was watching, she spoke out loud. "I don't know what you're talking about," but she _signed_ her real instructions – _W-A-L-K B-A-C-K._

Chuck looked up from her hand and said with as little fanfare as possible said, "I got it." He lowered his head but watched Sarah intently with a sideways glance as she unbuckled her seat belt and stood up.

From in front of her Casey asked, "Where you going Walker?"

"Ladies room, want to come?" Sarah responded sardonically over her shoulder as she walked away.

* * *

Chuck waited for what seemed to be the longest minute of his life and then he moved over and stood up in the aisle. Casey turned around. With a raised brow, he sought a response for the nerd's action.

"What? I'm just stretching my legs and I didn't want to climb over Sarah. Uh, you wanna a drink?" Chuck flubbed the last part.

"Hummmph." It was a #2 Casey grunt, which the exiting nerd knew as 'disbelief with a side of sarcasm'. Chuck didn't care though, he needed to find out just what Sarah was keeping from him and now was his chance.

After passing the curtain between first class and coach, Chuck noticed Sarah further down the aisle through the sea of passengers. With a curl of her finger and a come hither look, she motioned for him to join her.

Chuck's eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks. A Brit with spiky peroxide blonde hair looked up from an aisle seat and gave a big smile.

"Awlright mah man."

"Billy Idol? What are…"

"Don't mine meh . . . lukes like yer gone tah be induckted into the Mile High Club."

"Oh, I don't know about that Billy, can I call you Billy?" Chuck couldn't stop his blush even though he knew better. Seductress Sarah was not his Sarah. That look was Agent Walker's way of getting them to a quiet place where they could talk alone.

The aging rock star shined his pearly whites and nodded, "That gurl is somewon to 'Grow Old With You.' I've seen it happen before mah man. Go rock that cradle of love." Billy slapped Chuck on the back, making the nerd's eyes bug out even further.

Chuck walked down the aisle and toward Sarah, garnering random high fives from lonely businessmen and a few disapproving stares from a couple of old biddies still smarting their losses from there weekend at the Reno casinos.

Just as Chuck made it face-to-face with the girl of his dreams, she pushed him into the bathroom. "Whoa…Hell-O!"

Sarah smiled back at him with a face that could launch a thousand . . . amateur porn sites. She made sure that everyone in coach noticed as she shut the door behind them.

* * *

Chuck looked around at the narrow confines of the lavatory. "How in the world did Awesome…? Wait, I don't want that image in my head again. . ." He flinched. "And there it is anyway. Yuck!"

Sarah's lip curled at Chuck's anxious side note. _Mmmm, nervous Chuck was one of her favorites._

"Gosh, there is no way that _that_ happens in here," Chuck said, struggling to keep free and clear of the beautiful blonde in front of him.

"What are you talking about?" she said, although she knew exactly what he was talking about for the second time in a matter of seconds. The more that he alluded to 'that' the more she found herself considering 'it.'

She was completely transfixed by how close he was to her. She stared at his mouth and the shapes it made as he uttered something that she couldn't quite make out. Unlike the car ride, the hotel, the tournament, his apartment, the Buy More, the Orange Orange, and practically everywhere they'd spent any time, here, there were no cameras, no Casey... no one except Chuck. Her senses were in overload as she consciously noticed her breathing quicken and her cheeks warm just thinking about the possibilities. Who would know? Okay, maybe Billy Idol and everyone in coach. Still, there'd be no one on earth…

* * *

"Earth to Sarah, earth to Sarah, what were you going to tell me?" Chuck asked looking down at her.

Sarah nodded taking in a deep breath. He would've given anything to know what she was thinking just then when she blushed. He caught himself licking his lips just thinking about what she was thinking. Was she thinking about him thinking about her as he thought about her thinking about him? God, all of this thinking was hopeless…_and confusing._ Couldn't she just tell him? Couldn't she just take the next half-step toward him and let him know if his suspicions were correct? Couldn't she just say that she feels something for him?

"Oh, sorry." With what appeared to be a renewed focus, she asked, "So you didn't know Maury Cheeks before you flashed on him right?"

Chuck shook his head. _Great, the Agent was back._

"Well, he seems to know you," she responded.

"Maybe he's tied to Fulcrum somehow?" Chuck questioned as his mind started to race in a different direction.

"No." Her response brought him back. "What I'm saying is . . . he knows you _in here_," Sarah remarked touching his forehead with her index finger and then pushing a few of his errant curls back into place. He shivered at her touch.

_God, I wish she hadn't done that_, Chuck thought. It was hard enough for him to concentrate with her pressed up against him in the way-too-confined space.

* * *

_God, I shouldn't have done that_, Sarah thought. It was hard enough for her to concentrate as she was pressed up against him in the way-too-confined space.

"Say what you're not saying," Chuck gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down nervously. She could tell that he was trying hard to stay on point. And his determination made her want him even more.

She seriously considered saying exactly what she was _thinking_, what she was _feeling_, what she _wanted…_and it had everything to do with sweet cheeks, but not the ones that were attached to the nerd still sitting in first class.

Chuck closed his eyes deliberately and sighed. "You mean, the Intersect."

"Uh, huh," was all she could get out as a response.

"Maury Cheeks has an Intersect in his head . . . and I'm in it?"

"We think so." She nodded.

_KNOCK! KNOCK!_

The noise at the door instantly snapped the Agent back to attention. The soft look in her cerulean eyes was immediately replaced by focused determination. "We're going to have to sell it."

"Wuh?" Chuck had obviously forgotten about what everyone outside _knew_ was going on inside the restroom.

"Everyone in coach has a pretty good _idea_ of what's going on in here, so we've got to protect our . . ."

"I got it." She could tell that the last thing he wanted to hear was the dreaded 'C' word.

"But Casey, Cheeks, no one in first class have any idea... So as soon as you go through the dividing curtains, we've got to pretend like nothing…"

"Pretend? But, nothing has happened Sarah. Wait, how are we gonna. . ."

Before Chuck could finish his sentence, Sarah put her hands on his chest and pushed his chest up against the door, hard. A rush of air escaped his lungs as she pinned him to the door and moved her head within inches of his mouth. She needed to focus and focus she did on his questioning eyes and then down to his inviting lips. She could feel his warm breath quicken in its pace as she breathed it in – it was _intoxicating_.

Sarah had only a few moments to make this believable. But believable for whom? For the passengers in coach? For Chuck? For her? No, she already knew how she felt about him. Now it was time to make him a true believer.

Then with the slightest response his eyes softened and he rolled his lips in anticipation. With certainty, she closed the remaining distance between them. His lips welcomed her in as if hers belonged there all along. There was no awkwardness, no anxiety, no ambivalence. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was telling him with her actions just what she felt for him.

Moving her hands up to his broad shoulders, holding on with everything she had, she continued to kiss him, taste his lips softly, all the while feeling him reciprocate as their kiss deepened. Suddenly, the tiny lavatory didn't seem so small and they melted into one another.

Still she could tell that he was holding back. _Why?_ Then Sarah sensed his left hand move toward the handle of door. He thought this was just for the c… (even she didn't want to think about that word now). She moved back slightly and took her mouth just off of his, whispering a breathy…

"Not yet."

He smiled back with understanding. It was the cue that he'd been waiting for all along.

Sarah panted in an effort to catch her breath but he didn't give her enough time. Chuck took his hand away from the door, leaned into her and firmly took control. He wrapped his arms around hers and pressed into her as she found herself firmly wedged between the back of the sink and his growing need to maintain contact with her. There was nowhere for her to go, she was pinned against him – exactly where she'd wanted to be all along.

She moved her head back as he laced his hands under her hair and trailed his fingers down the back of her neck with his thumbs coming forward to her chin and up to her face continuing to deepen their kiss. This kiss wasn't tender like their kiss at New Year's. It was infused passion, desperate almost, pure energy that flowed uncapped from him to her. It was the kind of kiss that left nothing on the table, everything said while no words were actually spoken. It was as if they had no tomorrow and she had to tell him everything in that moment, all with their kiss.

She knew what she wanted to happen and she could tell by his response that he did too. As much as she didn't want to halt the progression things, the Agent within her knew that she had to stop this now while she still could.

Sarah reached behind him and down to the handle. After pushing the lever down, she gave him a firm but gentle shove out the door.

* * *

**[STAY TUNED: In the next installment of Chuck v. The Burning Man, forget scrabble, try a cross word!]**

**[For this chapter's bit of interactive fun, the first person to correctly identify the other two times Chuck has been 'wrangled into a trunk,' will win this chapter's prize.]**


	24. CHILL is not a CrossWord

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Thanks Aardvark7734 – you're the best beta ever!**

**Congratulations wepdiggy! For winning Ch.23's prize, he gets to suggest a song on Chuck's pink iPod! **

* * *

**Chapter 24 – Roaring Reno, part 6 – C-H-I-L-L Is Not A Cross Word**

Chuck stumbled backward a step, struggling to catch his breath. He looked back at Sarah curiously, catching the strangest of looks on her face just before she closed the door to the airplane's lavatory. It was the same look that she had at the docks after she kissed him, the same look after their New Year's kiss, a look of vulnerability coupled with something different, something like . . . _desire_. "She totally wanted. . ."

"Umm hmm." Chuck heard someone next to him clear her throat. He turned while trying to straighten his disheveled hair.

"Pardon us," said the woman next to him with a young girl standing beside her.

"Mom, he was in the little girls room," the girl stammered.

"Apparently it was the big girls room too," her mom snickered.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait. I thought boys and girls used the same ones on an airplane," Chuck shrugged his shoulders, all the while failing to keep a goofy grin off his face.

"But not at the same time," the precocious little girl insisted.

"You have a good point. Next time I'll try to remember that," Chuck offered as he left them to head back to his seat in first class.

"Hey mister," the little girl started prompting Chuck to turn around. "You know that you have a Kool-aid mustache, right?"

"That's not Kool-aid sweetie," her mom corrected with a hushed tone.

Chuck turned back and looked in the mirror just outside the flight attendant's station. The little girl was right, he had a red mustache alright, but it wasn't due to drinking any Kool-aid. The only thing he'd tasted was of the Sarah Walker variety, but it was oh-so-sweet.

He grabbed a hot towel and wiped his face, removing the remnants of Sarah's lipstick from his chin. In an attempt to cool his jets, he let out a deep breath. As he exhaled, his breath fogged up the mirror in front of him. He reached up and wiped it with the towel. When he did, he saw the reflection of Billy Idol grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Well come meh man to the Mile High Club," said Billy.

Blushing at the suggestiveness of his suggestion, Chuck didn't know what to say except, "Yeah," with a satisfied smile. He wasn't 'satisfied' in the way that Billy 'Flesh for Fantasy' Idol implied, but he definitely felt as though he was orbiting a mile high over the earth. He was more than satisfied, elated in fact, to know that Sarah Walker not only felt something for him – _she desired him_.

Chuck wiped his brow one more time and then discarded the towel. He grabbed a couple of bottled waters, opening one and taking a drink. He took down half of the bottle's refreshing goodness in one gulp. He needed to get back to his seat before she came out of the restroom.

Chuck walked to first class, parted and moved through the curtains, and then sat back down.

"Did you find what you were looking for Bartowski?" Casey asked.

"As a matter of fact, I did." Chuck responded with a distant look and a slight grin.

Casey looked back and grunted at the bottled water. They weren't fooling him.

* * *

Sarah lingered in the bathroom for a moment longer. "Not yet? _Not yet?_ What was I thinking?" Only, her smile gave her response all-too-well. She knew exactly what she was thinking, who she was thinking about, and what she was thinking about doing with whom she was thinking about. But _not yet_.

She needed to cool off. Sarah grabbed a paper towel and turned on the small faucet to release a trickle of water on it. She wiped her face and neck. All the while, she still couldn't help but sport a small, but satisfied, grin.

_KNOCK! KNOCK!_

Sarah heard another rap at the door. She straightened her hair and quickly reapplied her makeup. "Sorry," she remarked as she opened the door. Sarah slid past the mom and her anxious little girl who was dancing the dance that little girls do when they need to go to the little girls' room.

As a lesson to her daughter, the mom attempted to give a look of disapproval, but when she saw the glow on the blonde's face, she couldn't help but smile. She knew. "I know that look and it's so worth it…"

"Not yet." Sarah answered with new-found composure. She wasn't talking to the woman, but instead was lost in thought. She walked back to first class and just before she parted the curtain she finished her thought, '_But someday_.'

Sarah moved through the curtain as if nothing had happened. She noticed that Chuck was sitting in her seat. She didn't think much about it. Instead, she started to scoot past him just as the plane hit a pocket of turbulence. As the plane dropped so did Sarah, straight into Chuck's lap. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Chuck responded quickly, trying to move back to his seat.

"It's okay," Sarah said while trying, but failing, to lean up.

"Wait, I took your seat," he remarked just as the plane dropped again and Sarah along with it.

"It's fine," she said trying to limit the spectacle that they were starting to cause.

"No, here let me move," Chuck insisted, finally snaking his lanky frame out from under the secret object of his affection. Back in their rightful seats, they simultaneously exhaled.

They had just finished a dance that no one in first class missed, especially the third wheel of Team Bartowski.

* * *

Casey knew it. Something had happened between them. "Do you two have to play musical chairs and dance around each other, torturing the rest of us by making us watch?"

"Who's watching?" Maury said, momentarily looking up from his magazine while sitting across the aisle. Apparently, he was the only one in first class who hadn't noticed the 'turbulent' dance spectacle that had just taken place.

"Why don't you give 'em a break, Johnny-boy, they're just a young couple in love," the elderly woman sitting next to Casey insisted.

Chuck looked at the older woman and quickly began, "Oh, no ma'am, you've got it…" _wrong, _he felt that he should say. He knew it was a lie, at least from his and – he hoped – Sarah's perspective. Luckily, she interjected before he finished his statement.

"We work together."

"It would be…" Chuck struggled to come up with the words.

"Unprofessional?" Casey snickered until the older woman frowned at him _again_.

"You know, back in St. Olaf, we had a saying for girls like her – she's just like my father's tractor. She may take a while to warm up, but once she gets going she can turn your topsoil till the cows come home."

"Is that right?" Casey snickered at the seemingly random comment from the old bird that in reality wasn't all that random after all.

"Oh yes. Let me tell you about my grandchildren and my friends. By the way, I'm Rose." The elderly lady plopped her suitcase of a purse on John Casey's lap as she searched for something within it. She momentarily glanced back at Chuck and then winked.

* * *

Chuck couldn't believe it. The granny had put Major Grumpy in his place and by the size of the photo album that she just pulled out of her bag, Chuck knew that Casey would be occupied for the rest of the trip. It was about time that his luck had changed.

Chuck turned to Sarah. He noticed that she had pulled out the in-flight magazine and started on the crossword inside it.

"Sarah, listen, about . . ." Chuck began to whisper in earnest.

Before he could finish what he was about to say, she stopped him. "Could you help me with this puzzle?"

"Umm," he mumbled with scrunched brows. "Okay, though I'm not very good at cross words." He didn't really mean the double meaning, but it was true nonetheless – he didn't want 'cross words' or a disagreement with her after what had just happened in the back of the plane.

Chuck noticed that Casey tried to turn around, but the big guy couldn't hear a thing. His ears were unwittingly being detained by Rose's stories about her friends, Dorothy, Sophia, and Blanche. But mostly, the woman rambled nonstop about Blanche's granddaughter Silvia Arculin and Silvia's husband Cliff who'd recently gotten her a new place at the Happy Heights Retirement Home.

Chuck knew that Casey's prying ears were definitely getting all the interference that they needed. Chuck looked back at Sarah.

"I've already got an answer for you on 9 across." She underlined the clue – 'to cool off'. She wrote out C-H-I-L-L.

He understood her meaning all-too-well and he didn't take offense. "Would you like some water? I brought some from the back when I stretched my legs."

"Sure, thanks." Sarah responded, nonchalantly. She took the bottle and placed it to the side. She didn't open it, but instead continued working on the puzzle as if nothing had just happened between them in the restroom.

Chuck pressed his lips together and looked at the crossword puzzle as Sarah continued to work on it. 17 down, two letters. The clue was 'My Oh ___' She wrote out _M-Y_.

_My oh my. _That was exactly his reaction to what had happened between them a few minutes earlier.

Next word. 40 across, eight letters. The clue was 'Emotions'. Sarah wrote out _F-E-E-L-I-N-G-S_.

Chuck's eyes widened as he looked down at the puzzle with newfound interest.

7 across three letters. The clue was 'Here and ____'. She wrote out _N-O-W_.

_Was she about to tell me her feelings here and now?_

Chuck's breathing quickened. His eyes darted back and forth between her face and the crossword. The only words she'd filled in, spoke volumes. _MY FEELINGS NOW_. She had feelings for him. He hadn't known for sure until now. But what were those feelings? Was she about to solve the puzzle of her feelings for him?

He scanned the rest of the clues as she paused for a minute. She began to trace her thumb round and round the fingers of her left hand. It was her tale-tell sign that she was thinking deeply about what she would do next. Chuck had seen her do this on countless occasions, on their cover Valentine's Day dinner from hell at his place, at the Buy More just before she'd confronted him about not trusting her with his rogue search for Orion, and now here she was doing it again. Did she even know that she had a tell?

Sarah put her pen up to her lips, the same lips that he'd taken into his, only moments before. He became increasingly distracted by her modest display. He was captivated by the shapes her mouth made as she read a clue again and considered her answer. Then she smiled.

She wrote down an answer that obviously didn't fit. From her subtle expression, Chuck could tell that she meant to make the mistake.

"Do you know a 14 letter phrase for a classic TV game show? What I have down isn't working."

In the spaces of 25 across, she had penciled in _C-A-N-T T-A-L-K A-B-O-U-T_.

In an instant, Chuck put the puzzle of what she was trying to say all together. She can't talk about her feelings now.

From the seat in front of them, while still thumbing through her photo album, Rose turned back and piped in, "Try 'To Tell The Truth' honey." When she did the Major slid one of the photos he recognized in his jacket for safe keeping. As she turned back, Rose resumed telling Casey all about the wonders of growing up in St. Olaf.

Talk about irony. _Try to tell the truth. _How could the woman know? It was the correct answer. It was the actual thing that Sarah 'can't talk about' – her feelings. At least '_not yet_' he thought, remembering the two words she said to him in the restroom.

Chuck understood. Without any warning, he put his hand on top of hers momentarily. Chuck sensed her slight shudder as he took the pencil out of her free hand. Her knowing smirk, told him everything he needed to know. Finally, Chuck was getting it.

Sarah set the crossword aside and calmly closed her eyes for a while.

Chuck took the crossword from her tray top and examined it once more. He attempted to fill in the rest of the puzzle, just in case a nosy Major decided to look back at them. It didn't take long for Chuck to be stumped.

"What about this one?" he asked her.

"What's the clue?" Sarah asked not opening her eyes.

Chuck read the clue, "49 down – communal gathering, three letters."

"Oh that's easy – bee."

"Got it. 49 bee." As soon as he said it, Sarah's eyes opened wide and she stiffened.

_DING. DING._

"All passengers please fasten your seat belts, we're about to head through a little turbulence just before landing." The pilot instructed over the plane's comm.

* * *

**[STAY TUNED: In the next installment of Chuck v. The Burning Man, Sarah puts a burning mystery together!]**

**[As a very special gift to all my patient Chuck fans during my recent sabbatical (with none other than the swine flu), check out http : // groups . google . com / group / Chuckversus ? hl = en **

**The link (without spaces) is also posted on my profile page. Click on the link and you'll find your very own **_**Chuck v. The Burning Man**_** crossword (the same one that was created just for this chapter). The first person to correctly identify the answer to '54 across' will win this chapter's prize!]**


	25. Is It Cold In Here Or Is It Just Me? pt1

**Chuck v. The Burning Man**

**Aardvark7734 is the best beta ever! If you are so inclined, be sure to check out his upcoming chapter in the Authors' Intersect story, **_**Chuck v. The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Really Bad Day**_**. It'll be posted later this week and I promise it won't disappoint!**

**Also a special thank you for your understanding and your get well wishes during the last two weeks while I struggled with the swine flu and walking pneumonia. The pigs are now gone and I'm on the mend slowly. :D**

**Congratulations to Apple for winning Ch.24's prize, she wanted a bird in this chapter so I gave her two!**

**Now back to our story already in progress…**

**

* * *

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Chapter 25 – Is It Cold in Here Or Is It Just Me?

**part 1—The Not-So Fat-Bottomed Girl **

Ellie opened the door with a smile on her face as her fiancé exited their apartment with a box in his hand. After her awesome man gave her a kiss on the cheek, he smiled and turned, noticing her brother and his girlfriend heading toward them through the courtyard.

"Chuckster. I thought you'd be gone for a couple more days," Devon remarked with a raised brow and slight head turn. It was obvious that he'd been enjoying the last two days alone with his betrothed.

"Oh, hi Sarah," Ellie blushed as her smile lit up the courtyard. "You two just getting back from Reno?"

"We finished up early," Chuck responded for the blonde next to him.

"What were you doing up there again?" Ellie asked.

"Umm….off-site install," Chuck blurted out. "It was uh…an extended service warranty. Yeah, see there was this Scrabble tournament in Reno and they bought all their electronics from us so…I had to go and make sure that everything worked for them." Chuck finished his ramble with a wide smile.

"Oh, I'm sure they didn't want to know about all of that _sweetie_," Sarah said emphasizing the last word.

Ellie smiled. The blonde always had a way of balancing her brother when he'd ramble on about things. It reminded her in some ways of how Devon grounded her when she would become overprotective or worry too much about things. It was just the sort of thing that a partner did for their other half. "It was nice that you were able to go with him, Sarah. But I'm sure it couldn't have been much fun for you."

"We had our moments." Sarah gave a shy half-grin at Chuck, catching his eyes with hers.

"Yeah, the plane ride back wasn't all that bad either," Chuck grinned back at her and Sarah's eyes widened.

"Mile high club? Nice." The captain gave a firm pat on Chuck's back knocking the wind out of his future brother-in-law.

"Devon!" Ellie exclaimed with a 'I can't believe you just said that out loud' look.

"Ha! I was talking about not having to drive back." Chuck nervously corrected, but he wasn't fooling anyone including his blushing girlfriend or his embarrassed sister.

"Sorry Sarah." Ellie tilted her head and gave her bridesmaid a weak, but understanding, grin.

"What? Babe, the best part of your 10 year high school reunion was the trip back," Devon responded pulling Ellie in with his free hand. Now Ellie was the one with the rosy cheeks.

"We did move in together after that," Ellie agreed as her fiancé caught her eyes.

"There's just something about confined spaces," he said, wrapping his woman in his arms.

Sarah rubbed the back of her neck and turned away as the soon-to-be newlyweds had a moment of their own, still blocking the doorway to the apartment.

"Umm hmm," Chuck cleared his throat. Ellie suddenly remembered her brother's aversion to PDA. She pulled away from Devon and turned back to the other couple in the courtyard.

"Hey you know, I did meet Billy Idol on the plane," Chuck added in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

The captain of all things awesome turned to Chuck with renewed interest, "You mean, you had 'The Vital Idol' live to urge you on while you were rocking the cradle of love? Outstanding." It was evident what he was still thinking about as they stood there.

"Well not exactly, but he did talk…lahke dis, meh man," Chuck offered in a weak attempt at emulating the aging Brit rocker's accent.

Sarah dropped her jaw and rolled her eyes feigning disapproval.

"The last time I saw Billy Idol was in that movie, 'The Wedding Singer,' remember that one?" Ellie asked, turning to the blonde.

"No, I haven't seen it." Sarah shook her head.

"Oh my goodness Sarah, where have you been? In a Columbian rainforest or a cave in Afghanistan?" Ellie asked almost flabbergasted.

Sarah smirked at Chuck. "No, I've been right here with you guys…for the past few years, I mean."

"HA!" Chuck laughed nervously with widened eyes.

Ellie couldn't help but think that she'd just missed some private joke between the couple in front of her – but it didn't matter. Ellie turned to Sarah and continued on about the chick flick.

"Oh you have to see it Sarah, it's wonderful. It's about this guy whose bride-to-be leaves him stranded at the wedding altar."

"Babe, that doesn't sound so awesome to me."

"Oh Devon, I'm not going anywhere," she turned and winked at her man, "…except down that aisle to meet my Mr. Woodcomb in two weeks and two days." Ellie put her hands on the chest of her love connection and he pulled her in for another hug. Still wrapped in Devon's embrace, Ellie looked around his shoulder at Sarah. "Anyway, in the movie, the guy's fiancée was all wrong for him but then the right girl came along at work. They continued to grow closer together but neither would say what needed to be said about how they felt for one another. It's all about miscommunication and working through it all." Ellie quirked a brow as her soon-to-be husband released her from his grasp. _Maybe they'll get what I'm saying._

"Obviously, Ellie's a fan," Chuck said, attempting to deflect his sister's not-so-subtle attempt at subtlety.

"Next girls night, we're watching it." Ellie insisted to Sarah.

"Okay." Sarah said with a brief nod and a shift in her boots. It was apparent that she was a bit uncomfortable, but Ellie wasn't sure why.

"Wedding Singer. That reminds me…" Ellie turned to Devon. "Have you called the band to re-confirm the date?"

"I've got it under control, babe." The awesome man smiled.

"Just to make sure, you didn't get that lame band of nerd herders that you made me go see at the Buy More two months ago, right?" The elder Bartowski still had wedding nightmares that started with Lester doing the Karate Kid 'crane' move and ended with Styx-like pyrotechnics at the end. _Focus Eleanor, it's your wedding day and it's going to be perfect._

"Oh come on sis, they have their moments," Chuck kidded. "You should've seen Jeffster after they downloaded the new Guitar Hero songs for the Buy More's Xbox 360 demo display. They did this rendition of 'Fat-bottom Girls' that…well, you know what… it was better than when Jeff attempted a solo of 'Dueling Banjos' on his keytar."

Ellie's eyes widened.

"I'm totally kidding," Chuck chuckled.

"So what do you have there, Devon?" Sarah asked, looking at the box under the captain's arm.

"It's the last of our wedding invitations. They're a little late but we lost part of our list when we had computer problems, a few weeks ago."

"You know, I have a little brother who can fix any computer and the night that everything crashed, he was nowhere to be found. Where were you Chuck?" It was a legitimate question, one that Ellie had never gotten a satisfactory answer from him.

"Off-site install?" Chuck responded, weakly.

Not believing him, Ellie _knew_ the real answer – he was with Sarah. Under normal circumstances the elder Bartowski wouldn't blame her brother, but she was steadily creeping into freaked out bride wedding planning mode.

"Oh come on babe. No-harm no-foul. We've gotten them done now, anyway. Besides, Chuck would never let us down – he's a Bartowski!" Devon offered in an attempt to shield his groomsman a bit.

Ellie hated to admit it but sometimes her fiancé's glass half-full attitude was just too much to take. Was he forgetting that every other Bartowski in their life had walked out on them through the years? Devon was right to an extent about Chuck though. With a few, recent exceptions, Chuck had always been there for her. He was a great brother.

"Just promise me that you're not going to go running off before the rehearsal dinner on some off-site install and then miss the wedding – you're the only family I've got," Ellie pleaded.

"Oh Ellie, I'd never miss your wedding. And…neither will dad. I'm going to find him. That's a promise." he said, reassuring his sister. She really wanted to believe her brother, even if she didn't. "Now about these invitations…"

"I was going to drop them off on my way to the hospital, but it looks like they're going to have to wait until after my shift." Devon looked back at his future wife for her approval, but none was forthcoming.

Ellie frowned.

"Sorry babe, but don't worry, I'll take care of it."

"You know what, why don't I take care of them for you? I'll drop them off at the post office on my way to the Orange Orange," Sarah offered.

"Oh Sarah, you don't have to do that," Ellie said secretly hoping that her bridesmaid would insist.

"No, I'll be glad to… I still feel bad that I made plans with Chuck and that I wasn't here this weekend for your lingerie shower," Sarah responded.

"Hey, I didn't know it was that kind of shower," Devon nuzzled his fiancée with his nose and pulled her in again with his free hand.

"Devon, you're going to be late, remember?" Ellie tried to steer his thoughts away from her direction.

"I insist." Sarah smiled looking both of them in the eyes.

"Thanks Sarah, that's what's so awesome about having family," the awesome man said awesomely. Sarah smiled in response with a short head nod. He handed her the box and then turned back to his fiancée for a final peck on the cheek before he headed out of the courtyard and off to work.

Ellie let out a deep breath as he left. "That man. Anytime someone mentions a shower or the bathroom, it's like…," the blushing Bartowski paused and snapped back to reality upon seeing her brother's bugged out eyes. "You know what, I'm sorry you two…it must be all this wedding planning."

Sarah smirked. "Well, I must be going too. I need to go check in at the Orange Orange. You know how crazy things can be after you miss two days in the world of frozen yogurt."

Chuck nodded and sighed. Sarah looked back at him expectantly. "Oh…" Chuck caught the cue and gave his girlfriend a quick peck on the lips.

Ellie couldn't help but smile when she noticed Sarah linger in front of Chuck longer than usual. Maybe this trip to Reno had turned out better than their recent foray into house sitting. Ellie hoped so. They complimented each other so well. Besides that Ellie really liked Sarah and she could tell that the blonde really cared for her brother.

Sarah turned and started to walk away with the box of invitations in hand. Then she stopped for a moment and spun back on her heels.

"Chuck don't you have one more, invitation I mean?" Sarah asked.

"Oh right. Thanks for reminding me." Chuck dropped his bag and reached down toward it. "You know, I'm glad we talked about it…" Chuck smiled.

"Talked about what?" Ellie wondered.

Chuck unzipped the side pocket of his duffel and reach for an invitation identical to the others in the box. As he pulled it out two other items came with it – his Triumph t-shirt and…a pair of purple laced underwear. Ellie couldn't be certain, but the panties looked familiar. Could those be the undies from Sarah's first sleep over? That night was still a blur to Ellie.

Chuck quickly balled the underwear in his fist in an unsuccessful effort to keep them out of his sister's view. "Ummm Sarah, I think these are yours," he said with a hushed tone.

Ellie smirked, obviously not missing a thing. "I'm glad you two had a good time."

"Are you sure you don't want to come in? You could catch up on all of your umm…invoices here?" Chuck asked his girlfriend.

Sarah looked up at the light in front of the door and then over to the hanging basket with a brass owl sculpture on the other side of the courtyard. _Why was she looking over there?_ Ellie wondered, as her brother nodded to his girlfriend again. It was as if something unspoken had transpired between them.

"No, I need to check on things at work. Besides, I've got some invitations to mail now, right?" Sarah smiled at Ellie and then turned back to Chuck. "But…I'll see you later." She said reaching in with her free hand and giving Chuck a kiss on the opposite cheek. Chuck reached up with his hand and caught hers just as she was lowering it. His fingers caught the charm bracelet on her wrist and she smiled.

This time her brother was the one lingering. He held onto her hand but then reluctantly let go as she moved away slowly. He stood there and watched her exit the courtyard with the invitations in hand.

* * *

After dropping off the remaining wedding invitations at the post office, Sarah made her way through the Orange Orange and down stairs to her real place of business. In addition to having to complete their report for the Reno mission, Sarah was tasked with the responsibility to watch Chuck until Casey had returned from escorting Maury Cheeks back home and making sure that they had the 24 hour 'ATF' detail in place for the comb-over nerd.

Under normal circumstances Sarah would've considered hanging out with Chuck as a good opportunity to further establish their cover relationship. Sarah pulled up the main screen to reveal Chuck laying on his bed reading that comic of his _again._ While she would've liked nothing more than to curl up beside him and figure out what's so enthralling about _Ex Machina_, she just wasn't sure she would be able to focus on her paperwork if he was in the vicinity and they were alone. It was taking everything she had to not smile too much when Chuck was around, to not respond when he wouldn't let up, to not do anything about these feelings she had for him. Even if her partner wasn't watching, Sarah knew that the cameras were everywhere and so were Beckman's prying eyes.

Unlike her superior, Sarah had always found it strange watching Chuck from afar. Her mind flashed back to those few seconds in the airplane's lavatory during their return flight. As she sighed, the pen that was resting on her bottom lip fell and dropped from her hand. Sarah breathed a couple deep breaths and looked around, remembering that no one was there. She hadn't realized how taken she was with that memory. It was to protect their cover after all, she weakly tried to rationalize.

Somewhere along the way though, she knew she had long since blurred those lines between the black and white until all she saw was the grey...of his t-shirt, that tie of his with the mustard stain, the shadows of his stubble when they'd had a long night on a stake out… She minimized the screen before her emotions got out of hand.

If for no other reason than to regain her focus, it was nice to spend some time by herself after their whirlwind trip to Reno. Most of her time had been spent riding in a car, interrogating a fully clothed flasher, and surveilling a Scrabble tournament. In between though, she and Chuck had drawn even closer through what he'd told her about his dad and what she'd told him about her feelings. Now she needed time – and a little separation – so she could get a handle on things before they got out of control.

Separation. Suddenly, she was reminded of what Chuck told her about his dad. In particular, she was thinking about the missing pears that his father took more than a dozen years ago. Maybe she could help Chuck find him and figure out the mystery behind their separation.

Sarah picked up her pen and started to make some notes, first writing down the last known address Chuck had for his dad.

_. . . . . . . . . .Stephen J. Bartowski. . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . .13944 Sahara Avenue. . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . .Las Vegas, Nevada 89104. . . . . . . . . ._

Sarah turned to her keyboard and typed the address. Within seconds, the screen displayed the result: _No such address_. Why would Chuck's dad list a return address for a location that didn't exist?

She looked at the charm bracelet on her wrist. It was Chuck's mother's. She wrote down:

_. . . . . . . . . _Left charm bracelet . _. . . . . . . . . _

Why would Chuck's dad have left something so important to him? Maybe he knew that his kids would come looking for him. She wrote down another fact.

_. . . . . . . . . _Left on his anniversary 13 years ago. _. . . . . . . . . _

Sarah didn't know much about Chuck's parents' relationship, but she surmised that his dad must have missed his wife very much since he'd continued to celebrate their anniversary in the same way years after she left. Sarah wondered if Chuck would carry on some of their traditions if she had to leave him.

The fact that she used 'if' instead of 'when' was not missed by the Agent within her. Deep down she wasn't sure that she could bear to leave him for a new assignment. Even with the limits of their relationship, she couldn't stand the thought of anyone coming between them. It wasn't that she was territorial – it was just that she knew that they were a great _team_ she tried to tell herself.

Sarah thought about the meal Chuck's dad always had on his anniversary.

_. . . . . . . . . _Ate Peking duck and noodles _. . . . . . . . . _

There were so many meanings behind Chinese food. Noodles symbolized longevity – it was one reason she always ordered them when they went out for Chinese. Sarah liked noodles but she had to admit that she often got a kick at the way that he stared at her longingly when she would take them into her mouth. It was a guilty pleasure to be sure. She wondered if Chuck ever picked up on her hint.

What did the duck mean though? She scrolled down through possible entries on her computer and found that 'duck' symbolized fidelity. _Should I start ordering duck now_ _instead of sushi?_ She grinned, at the geekiness of her thought.

Sarah looked back down at the list. What was the movie Chuck mentioned that his dad watched on pay per view?

_. . . . . . . . . Mission Impossible.. . . . . . . . ._

She remembered Chuck's off-handed question, 'Spies don't really use bible verses to communicate code, do they?' The fortune was left on top of a bible after all. She was glad that she memorized it.

_. . . . . . . . . . Right now there's an energy pushing you in a new direction. . . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . . Lucky Numbers: 10 – 31 – 14 – 7 – 12 – 16. . . . . . . . . ._

What direction? Perhaps the mystery was in the lucky numbers? She looked down at the charm bracelet on her wrist – it also meant 'good luck'. Still, it didn't seem to fit with the other clues. Otherwise, the fortune would've been next to it and not the bible.

Could there be something to that 'bible code' that might actually prove divine? She started to think back to some of her dad's early cons. There was the time her dad played Dan Teague, a Bible salesmen on furlough from a medical-dental mission. She remembered going door-to-door asking for money to send bibles to 'spread the word' to all the UPGs (Unsaved People Groups) in South America. It wasn't as bad as the annual Salvation Army con-job but it was close.

Then there was the time that they sold 'holy water' that her dad claimed had the face of the Virgin Mary in it. That ponzi scheme collapsed when 'Katie O'Connell' was caught filling the bottles with tap water behind the rectory of St. Florian's Catholic Church.

Neither scheme was anything compared to the con they'd pulled when she was 13 – The Exodus Travel Agency. The ETA took in thousands of dollars in travel deposits from old temple and church members who wanted exclusive tours of the Holy Lands. Sarah could practically quote the Torah back then. It was this memory that lead her thoughts in a new direction. Could it be that simple? Did the fortune correspond to the book of Numbers and the numbers that followed?

She pulled up and typed Numbers followed by the first two sets of numbers on the fortune: Numbers 10:31. A verse came up on the screen.

_. . . . . . . . . . Please do not leave us, for you know where we should camp in the wilderness, and you will serve as eyes for us. . . . . . . . . . ._

Sarah focused particularly on the word wilderness. In the bible, the wilderness was the desert – a remote, easy place to hide and stay lost.

Next she typed in Numbers 14:7. The result popped up on the screen.

_. . . . . . . . . . The land which we passed through to spy it out, is an exceedingly good land. . . . . . . . . . ._

Sarah remembered that Chuck was born in Connecticut and had moved to Southern California. Could his dad be somewhere in between?

Finally, Sarah typed in Numbers 12:16.

_. . . . . . . . . . the people . . . camped in the wilderness of Paran. . . . . . . . . . ._

The desert of Paran could be anywhere. There had to be another clue. Sarah thought for a moment and then tapped a familiar number on her iPhone.

"Hey Chuck," Sarah started as she switched the monitor back to the camera in Chuck's room.

"Fine." She noticed that he'd turned his comic over and rested it on his lap face down.

"No, I'm sorry. I've got to finish the mission report before Casey gets back."

"I don't … I don't know if I can," she sighed.

"Oh, …oh…okay, alright tell Ellie…yes."

"Six? Okay, I'll try to be there." She looked down at the list of clues in front of her. Suddenly, she was reminded of why she had called him.

"Hey, do you remember that Bed & Breakfast where your dad stayed?"

"What was the room like?" She paused as she listened to him ramble on about the room's various amenities. Sarah was seeking a detail, something that perhaps they'd missed when he had originally told her the story.

"Right, a fireplace. Was there anything over the mantle…oh, okay. An old map of the U.S.?"

"No reason."

"No, Chuck I don't think we can go to the B&B for a …" She smiled as he cut her off.

"I was just wondering, that's all."

"Okay…bye." Sarah hung up her phone and continued to watch the screen for a moment. She noticed that he was smiling that goofy smile of his as he continued to look at his phone. His thumb was moving back and forth across the screen as he stared at it. He was looking at photos on his phone. Her lips curled upward into a smile. Sometimes he was so easy to read _and watch_.

Sarah looked back at the final verse again…the wilderness of Paran. She typed in 'Paran' and 'United States.' The results popped up one by one.

_. . . . . . . . . . _Paran, Alabama_. . . . . . . . . . _

_. . . . . . . . . . _Paran,Maryland_. . . . . . . . . . _

_. . . . . . . . . . _Paran, Pennsylvania_. . . . . . . . . . _

_. . . . . . . . . . _Parran, Nevada._. . . . . . . . . . _

Only the last one was in the desert. Sarah pulled up the satellite imagery for Parran, Nevada. There was nothing there but an old train track and Joshua trees. It was a deserted ghost town – just the kind of place that someone could get lost and never be found, unless they wanted to be.

For a moment, she considered just typing 'Stephen J. Bartowski' in the Joint Intelligence database. It would've definitely been easier but then she thought the better of it. Beckman had ordered them not to tell Chuck about Maury Cheeks' possible connection to Chuck's dad. If she were to use government resources to search for his dad, it would certainly raise a red flag.

_This had to be it._ Sarah clicked on the screen and rolled back the archival satellite footage from two weeks ago. Suddenly just the thing she was looking for was right in front of her – a silver Airstream Overlander – a trailer just like the one Maury Cheeks had described.

Steve Bartowski had been there. Through the clues he had left, Chuck's dad had been telling his son where he was all along. Then something made him move, but what?

* * *

What was Orion telling him? Chuck's mind was swimming. He'd been studying the schematics taped inside his _Ex Machina_ comic for the better part of an hour, minus the sweet phone call from Sarah and the time that it took to get her out of his head afterward. All that talk about the B&B had the nerd thinking in directions he definitely couldn't verbalize in his current location.

Chuck rubbed his eyes and stretched. He noticed his bag over on his desk chair and decided to unpack. Taking out his shaving kit and toiletries first, he then dumped his clothes on the bed. As he moved the dirty clothes over to his laundry hamper, he noticed purple lace peeking out from under his Triumph t-shirt. Picking it up first with his index finger and then leveling it off with his other hand in front of him, he couldn't help but grin as he held the top up by its straps. He really wanted to bring it up to his face, to take in her smell, but he could already hear the string of quips he'd later get from his nosy NSA neighbor if he did. Even if the Major wasn't watching, he knew that _she was_ and acting like a psycho stalker nerd who smelled women's underwear was a little too Jeff-like. Still, why did she leave _this _in his bag? They'd had separate rooms in Reno. There was just no way that _this_ could have wound up in his duffel by accident.

"Chuck."

He froze dropping the lace teddy in the hamper and turning back to notice his sister in the doorway. Ellie walked in his room with a laundry basket on her hip.

"Do you have any clothes that need washing?"

"No. Thanks. I've got it."

"I've only got a half load. Besides, Sarah saved me some time by taking care of the invitations for us. The least I can do is use that extra time to do my brother's laundry."

Chuck didn't really understand her logic but he knew better than to get in the way of his sister when she got in a mood to clean.

"Really. I don't mind. Now scoot." She reached down into his hamper and grabbed its contents, not noticing the purple item that he was just inspecting. Chuck just stood there with his mouth gaping, not knowing what to say.

"What? I need something to keep my mind off all this wedding craziness." Ellie smiled and he smiled nervously back as she walked out.

Maybe she wouldn't notice. If she did, at least it would be good for their cover, even if it didn't cover a thing.

* * *

"Oh my…this couldn't cover a thing," Ellie said as she held up the purple negligee top that obviously wasn't hers. Then, she remembered Chuck trying to hide Sarah's purple panties in the courtyard. Ellie smirked.

"She really _is_ a big girl." Ellie grinned as she held the top up to her chest in comparison. The elder Bartowski couldn't help but be a bit envious when she realized that she needed a bit more to fill-in something like this and make it work for her.

* * *

After Sarah finished filling in the details of her mission report, she headed over to Chuck's place. She had planned on spending a quiet evening alone until Ellie had insisted that she come over for dinner. Sarah still didn't know what she was going to say to Chuck about his dad. Even if she didn't know where his dad was now, she felt certain that he had been in Parran, Nevada, until recently. She wanted to tell him, he deserved to know but she knew that she couldn't tell him at his place or even in the courtyard. It was just too risky. Sarah knocked on his bedroom door and proceeded to enter.

"Hey. Ellie let me in." Sarah entered. Chuck hastily pushed his comic book aside.

"What time is it?"

"It's a quarter 'til six. It took me a little longer than I expected to get the report done. Maybe I'm a little tired, but I just kept getting distracted for some reason."

"Speaking of distractions, I ummm, I … you might be missing this," Chuck said as he walked over to his desk and grabbed the brown paper bag on top of it. He handed her the bag. Sarah opened it and grinned, noticing the purple negligee.

"Ellie washed it. I'm still not sure how it got in my bag, by the way. Do you know?"

"The truth?" She asked looking up at him.

"Yeah," Chuck gulped.

"You might be disappointed at the answer. I'm sorry, but I did it to help secure our cover with your sister."

Chuck's face fell a bit. He'd hoped there was something else, some other meaning than their convenient and fake cover relationship.

"I'm sorry but you wanted the truth." She turned back at him and smiled, "Chuck, other than the first night I was supposed to stay over, when have you ever seen me in something like this?" Sarah held up the nightie to her chest as his eyes widened at the thought.

"Well, there was this time after you shot Lt. Mauser…" Chuck said.

Sarah scrunched her brows.

"Okay, you know what, that was just a dream…of which I'm sorry about now. I'm usually much more respectful to women, even in my dreams."

She smirked. Chuck wasn't giving up that easily though.

"Alright, I have one."

"Huh?"

"The shower."

"What?"

"You know…"

"When we thought we were poisoned by gas?" Sarah asked.

"Exactly. You were wearing a black bra and panties," the nerd interrupted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Every guy over the age of 13 knows why a girl wears black underwear…"

"Yeah, and every boy over the age of 5 knows that black matches black. I was wearing my _black_ mission gear that day." Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Okay but what about Cole?"

"Are we going to bring that up again? It was a mission, Chuck. Besides, I was wearing…"

"Black. Right." Chuck finished her thought.

"Alright, just for argument's sake, what color was I wearing in that dream of yours?"

"Black."

Sarah's shook her head and smirked. He really was irresistible when he let his geeky side take over at times. She noticed the crossword from the plane lying on his bed and smiled.

Suddenly, her iPhone buzzed. She tapped on the screen and noticed a new text. She read it with an increasingly furrowed brow.

"Chuck, I have to go," the Agent said as she grabbed the crossword from the his bed and moved over to his window.

"Wait…are you sure? What about dinner?" Chuck asked.

"I'm sorry, but I can't stay."

"What do I tell Ellie?"

"Make up something…" she said as she stepped through the window and into the courtyard.

"Right, yogurt emergency."

Sarah turned back and looked at him through the window, but did not delay. "Just tell her I wasn't feeling well but don't tell her I have…"

"A spastic colon, right. I got it."

* * *

Chuck's stomach was all in knots. His sister had taken the change in plans fine but he was concerned about Sarah. There had been something about the look on her face when she had gotten that text. Since then, he'd tried to call her several times but his calls went straight to her voicemail. A sense of dread was steadily rising in his insides.

He needed something to take his mind away from the unknown. Perhaps some music would help him relax. Chuck shuffled through his duffel and his remaining packing but couldn't find his pink iPod anywhere.

As he checked his bag a second time, he heard a grunt followed by the clinking sound of keys outside his window. Casey was back. Maybe he'd know what was going on with Sarah. Chuck two-stepped to the Morgan door and hopped through it just as the Major was about to open his front door.

"Casey, wait," Chuck said as his lanky frame closed the distance between them. "Did we remember everything from Reno?"

The Major took his eyes off his iPhone and looked back at him with a scrunched brow as if to say 'get to the point.'

"You know what? Forget it. It's not that important." Chuck started to turned around and leave but then he turned and followed Casey into his apartment. "It's just…I had this mp3 player…"

"Bartowski, is finding that iPod of yours vital to national security? Man up already."

Before Chuck could respond with an equally snarky response, a burning red-head popped on the monitor in front of them.

"General," the Major snapped to attention.

"What…um…okay, I see that you two have some catching up to do, so I'll be in my room," Chuck started to leave.

"Mr. Bartowski you may stay," Beckman responded. Chuck sighed, he knew that 'may' really meant 'must' when it came to the General's instructions.

"General, would you like for us to wait on Agent Walker?" Casey asked.

"That won't be necessary Major. Agent Walker is on a different assignment this evening," the General responded.

Chuck scrunched his brows. _Different assignment? _"Are you sure General? Because I _feel_ that Agent Walker would probably want to be here with me…uh, I mean us…for the briefing."

The General quirked a brow, but did not respond to the nerd.

"Major we have analyzed the picture that you obtained from…" she paused as she looked down at her briefing materials for the name, "Rose Nylund."

As the photograph appeared on the screen, Chuck immediately recognized the woman. "Geez, Casey you stole a picture from that old lady on the plane? I knew you liked your fruit over-ripe but this one's a bit past her expiration date, don't you think?"

Casey's eyes burned fire and his knuckles turned white-hot as he prepared to deliver a punch that was perhaps a long time in the making.

"Gentlemen." The two men turned back to the General. "If you will look closer at the photograph, you will notice a poster announcing the ground breaking for the Happy Heights Senior Center." Before Chuck could get a good look at the people in the photograph, the screen zoomed in to the poster to the left of the crowd. As the image resolution increased, the General began to read out the list of contractors listed on the poster.

"We have confirmed that Barak Mobility, Lateral Energies, Holloway Corporation…."

Suddenly, Chuck became nauseous and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell back to the heels of his feet. Before his minds eye he saw a flow chart and image after image of various corporate entities all leading to one word—_Fulcrum._ Chuck snapped back on the balls of his feet and then cut-off the General.

"…are all shell corporations for Fulcrum," Chuck blurted out.

Casey's ire subsided and then a questioning look crept onto his face. "I asked you about those companies months ago. You had better not have been holding out on me."

"Ahh. No. This intel is from…you know…the Dark Intersect." Chuck pursed his lips together.

The General frowned. The image on the screen zoomed back out to show the entire photograph. In addition to Rose Nylund, there were numerous individuals with hard-hats and shovels just behind a tape.

The woman and man to the right you already know – Silvia and Cliff Siljak."

"Right, cougar lady minus the handcuffs. We don't have to worry about them anymore," Chuck mumbled as he thought back to their brain-frying moment back in the Burbs.

"Chuck, can you tell us anything about the other people in the picture?"

Chuck looked over the various faces. "Can you zoom in on woman to the far left?" As the image refocused, Chuck recognized the diminutive woman with brilliant white hair – she was the same woman that he'd flashed on in the Buy More a few weeks earlier.

"Did you flash?"

"Yeah, but not just now. Remember the lady I told you about that came into the store looking for a television for the kitchen of the…"

"Happy Heights Retirement Center," Casey muttered along with Chuck in unison.

"Major, I didn't get a report of any flash on this woman," the General said sternly.

Casey glanced over at Chuck with a 'this isn't going to be good' look.

"Well, ma'am…"

"I'm sorry General, but that was my fault." Chuck tried to take responsibility for the lack of report even if it wasn't his fault. "It's just that I flash on so many things and I didn't think it was important to national security to report that this little old lady used to be a part of the OSS back in World War II."

"Mr. Bartowski, you are not an agent nor are you an analyst. You are just an asset. You aren't paid to think."

"Actually, I'm not paid anything," Chuck muttered under his breath and Casey grunted.

The General continued without hearing the nerd's comment, "It is your responsibility to report everything that you flash on. Understood?"

"Yes, General. Just so you know," Chuck stopped and considered his response. "Every time I look at that Maltese Falcon behind your desk…" The General turned back to look at the statue.

"…I see you and General Stanfield…well…you know…" Chuck stopped just as the General spun back around. Casey's eyes bugged out of his head but he didn't move.

"You are to report everything _except_ that. Now that we have that covered gentlemen, I want to bring your attention to the woman in the center of the photograph."

The older woman in the picture was holding a large pair of scissors and showing more leg than her cankled varicose veins should have allowed.

Beckman began, "Her name is Blanche Devereaux. Her list of exploits is as long…"

"…and old…" Casey said under his breath.

"As Roan Montgomery's?" Chuck asked with a smirk.

"Now that you mention it, yes. Which brings me to your next mission."

"Oh no, I draw the line at Granny Robinsons," Chuck said with widened eyes and Casey chuckled under his breath.

The General continued on as if she hadn't heard anything the nerd had said. "We need to find out more about what is going on at this retirement home. The intel that we have gathered definitely suggests that Fulcrum has an on-going presence there and we need to know why."

"Oh God, I think I'm gonna be sick," Chuck said.

The General continued, "Major," suddenly the strapping NSA Agent's face grew pale. "Get close to Ms. Devereaux and find out what she knows."

Relieved, Chuck looked at Casey and then back at the General, "When you mean get close to her…"

"By any means necessary."

Chuck couldn't be sure but he thought he heard a whimper escape from the burly man.

With a satisfied smirk, the General signed off.

* * *

Sarah made her way through the Orange Orange freezer. After pushing down the sconce, waiting for the monitor to finish her retina scan, and entering her access code, she made her way through the Castle entrance.

"Casey?" the Agent asked as she climbed down the stairs of the Castle for the second time that day but the Major was nowhere to be found.

Her iPhone buzzed and she answered it.

"Hey Casey, where are you? I got this strange text from Beckman about a briefing….You didn't get it?...What are you talking about?...You had nothing to do with what?"

Sarah looked down at the crossword puzzle still in her hand and she knew. All she had to do was look at the answer to 49 down. Just then the door from the Orange Orange opened and a woman who looked as though she could've been one of those 'skin jobs' Chuck was always going on about appeared.

"I'm Agent Alex Forrest," the woman said with a cold, appraising stare. "I'm your 49B."

* * *

**[For this chapter's bit of interactive fun, the first person to correctly name the classic 1981 fantasy film from which the brass owl originated will win this chapter's prize. There are extra points for anyone who is able to name of the owl.]**


End file.
